MILL 

WASTE 

A BOOK OF 
FUN AND KNOCKS 


BY BILL MCKAY 



Class 

Book -/YJX 3 r5" 

Copyright N° ^ 


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MILL WASTE 

























































































































































































































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MILL WASTE 

A BOOK OF FUN AND KNOCKS 


BY 

WILLIAM B. McKAY 


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FROM THE AMOSKEAG BULLETIN 
A NEWSPAPER PUBLISHED TWICE A MONTH 
BY THE AMOSKEAG TEXTILE CLUB 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR H. CASWELL 






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Printed and Bound in the Mills of the 
AMOSKEAG MANUFACTURING COMPANY 
MANCHESTER, N. H. 

1916 


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.M 335" 

Copy?. 


Copyright 1916 
By William B. McKay 





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PREFACE 


Responding to requests from many sources to 
put into book form the Mill Waste accumulated 
during the three years existence of the Amoskeag 
Bulletin, I finally made up my mind that if the public 
could stand it, I could also, so here it is. 

Perhaps you will find your name in the following 
pages, but if you discover that you are not mentioned, 
you may rest assured that it is not my fault. I have 
tried hard to get something on you, as well as others, 
and if another volume of Mill Waste is printed three 
years from now, it may be that you will be found very 
much in it. Let us all hope so. 

Some people are continually doing things to get 
their names into print. The man who does big things 
in scientific or prehistoric research work cannot ex- 
pect his endeavors to land his praises in Mill Waste. 
It is the fellow who is doing things of a ridiculous 
nature, one who is the victim of jokes or peculiar 
situations, that I make copy from, and you have the 
complete result, up to date, within these covers. 

This has been a labor of love on my part, but the 
thorny path of editorial life, thought by many to be 
strewn with roses and strawberry short-cake, has been 


one continual attempt to assuage the hurt feelings 
of my victims. Some did not mind a joke while others 
would rant and rave, starting in their little 
talk with mentions of tar and feathers, rope, black 
eyes, etc., and then would gradually sink into a 
diminuendo strain, finally winding up with “Can 
you let me have a dozen Bulletins to send away?” 

There has been no desire or intention on my part 
to print stories that might cause harm to any living 
soul. True, some of my friends, on the spur of the 
moment, have imagined and declared that they were 
irretrievably ruined, but when the heat of anger be- 
came cooled and the situation was looked squarely in 
the face, then — why, there was nothing to it. 

Great Snakes! If you could but know some of 
the things that have been given me to print! Had I 
not been possessed of a gentle and thoughtful dis- 
position, ever mindful of the feelings of my fellow 
man, I am very much afraid that my bones would now 
be undergoing a bleaching process in some remote 
spot too infrequently visited to ever be found. 

Your good nature and my good nature, each 
claiming a certain amount of frivolity as a necessary 
part of this great thing, life, will no doubt steer us, 
henceforth in the same general direction we have been 
following in the past, and if our minds find fun at 
another’s expense then we shall continue to be good 
natured. If I have printed anything in Mill Waste 
for which I was made to feel sorry, then I am glad 


of it. If I am glad and you are glad, the other 
fellow must be glad, so let’s all be glad and happy. 

I wish to take this opportunity to thank those 
who have been good enough to give me the facts from 
which I made the stories. I also wish to express my 
thanks to the ones who stumble and fall, thereby 
furnishing material for Mill Waste; in fact, to them I 
extend a double dose of thanks. 

To the Amoskeag Textile Club, which is respon- 
sible for the existence of the Amoskeag Bulletin, I 
dedicate this book. The Textile Club has fostered and 
carried out many creditable ideas, delving into various 
branches of philanthropic work with successful re- 
sults. The Bulletin has been but one small part of 
the Club’s many activities, and I am proud that I 
have had a hand in that particular branch. 

BILL. 




MILL WASTE 


Intention of Mill Waste 

“Mill Waste” is a good title for this column. 
As time wears on you will discover what it means. 
Perhaps you will find out to your sorrow. It is my 
intention to have the members of the Amoskeag Tex- 
tile Club talking about me — and my column, too. 
You can’t hurt my feelings, not a little bit, and I want 
you to get after me just as hard as if we were on 
friendly terms. 

The more you write letters to me and the more 
you talk to me, then so much more interesting will 
this column become. You and I are going to get along 
fine. That is, just as long as we keep our tempers. 
I won’t lose mine, but you can take a tip from Bill 
that someone will be out with a lantern, working 
overtime, trying to dope out the exact whereabouts 
of a couple of gallons of loose brainstorm juice. I defy 
you! Do your worst, and more than that if you 
have it. 


Page 1 


A Politician’s Duty 

Representative Charles M. Franks, of Ward 7, 
goes to Concord with the rest of the almost politicians 
on the days that there is anything doing in the law 
foundry. Charles is a mighty good fellow — sometimes 
— but when they spring anything about him in a min- 
strel show he is liable to take the bit in his teeth and 
bite it through. Some of his fellow members of the 
Manchester delegation are wondering if he contracted 
a severe case of frosted pedal extremities in regard to 
that chairmanship of the committee on manufactures. 

When a man accepts a nomination and is elected 
to any public office, it is my impression that he should 
take the bitter with the sweet and accept the duties 
imposed upon him without regard to personal pre- 
ference. Whether or not his ice cream tootsies called 
the turn, I do not know, but perhaps if he had been 
appointed chairman of the committee on Sleepy Hol- 
low Iniquities he might have risen to the occasion and 
yawned his acceptance. 


Surely Is a “Sight” 

The yard around No. 11 mill has been beautified 
by the setting out of three thousand shrubs, plotted 
in the most artistic manner. It will be a sight well 
worth seeing next summer. In fact, even now the plot 
just north of the north-west tower is a “sight.” A 
path has been worn from the corner of the mill directly 
across the newly made beds. It is evident that some- 
body is over-anxious to get to his work. Genie, why 
don’t you get out and talk to them? 


Page 2 


Dana’s Trick Explained 

Dear Bill: — Through your valuable column, I 
wish to correct a very wrong impression. At the 
lecture on December 1 1, it was reported that, as the 
glee club came upon the platform, Dana Emery was 
attacked by stage fright. Now, as a dear friend and 
champion of the aforesaid, I wish to explain that his 
apparent trembling was in reality a stage trick. Dana 
aspires to a sort of Howard Russell physique and as his 
avoirdupois is a minus quantity, he obtains the de- 
sired effect by rapidly swaying from side to side, thus 
keeping two shadows in active operation. I trust that 
this explanation will remove from his fair name the 
load of false accusation and calumny which has been 
heaped upon it. 

GENTLE JAMES. 

Gentle James: — There you are again. You cer- 
tainly are the most komikal kuss I know. You haven't 
talked with Charlie Chapman, lately, about Dana 
Emery, have you? The senator says that Dana has 
to walk past the same place twice in order to cast a 
shadow. 

BILL. 


The Crying Club 

Several of the women, overseers' wives, who re- 
side on the corporation, have formed a “Crying Club." 
They have seats every Thursday afternoon at the 
King-Lynch matinees and hold their weekly “cry" 
in the theatre. That’s a good place for such things 
because we strong men don't like to see the floor 
spotted up around the house. 


Page 3 



Page 4 


The Filter Building Shower Baths 

The Amoskeag Company is spending consider- 
able money in changing over the toilet and wash 
rooms in many of the mills. The sanitary conditions 
are much improved thereby and the operatives are 
more than pleased with the innovation. Some have 
gone so far as to predict that in the near future shower 
baths will be added. 

But in the meantime, anyone who wishes to 
take advantage of a fine shower bath can do so any 
rainy day by trying to enter the Filter building in the 
southern division. All the rain that falls south of 
Granite street congregates on the roof of this mill 
and descends directly upon the steps. 

Who looks after those things? 


Firemen Not Needed 

A charming little burler 
Bought a pretty, patent curler, 

Just to curl her curly curl — but here’s the joke: 
This charming little burler 
All too hot she got the curler 

And her curly little curl went up in smoke. 


The Morning After 

First Boss Weaver — Did you notice the clouds 
this morning? They seemed to be going around in a 
circle. 

Second Boss Weaver — Funny how those things 
affect us weavers. Now the sidewalk looked just like 
that to me last night. 


Page 5 


Hanging ’Round the Barn 

You cannot always judge how truthful a farmer 
is simply by looking at his teeth, any more than you 
can believe a fisherman or hunter when he shows you 
an enlarged photograph of the game he purchased from 
the other fellow. This was very forcibly demonstrated 
a few days ago, when Hanson Armstrong with some 
friends were on a hunting trip over in the wilds of 
Chester. Mr. Rubeman happened along and volun- 
teered the information that a big buck had been seen 
hanging around the red barn “over there.” The brave 
hunters made a bee line for “over there.” They did 
not see any deer about the place. They looked further. 
Still no deer. Of course Hans was looked upon as 
being the only one in the party who was a really and 
truly hunter, and the matter was put up to him. 
Hans can look plenty wise at times, and assuming 
his most owlish expression, he poured forth a mess of 
stuff that he had read a few nights previously and, 
strange to say, he remembered. His plan was to hide 
behind a blade of grass and make a noise like a cab- 
bage. 

He thought that would bring Mr. Deer within 
gun shot. They all laid low and waited. Then they 
waited some more. After waiting awhile longer and 
then some, Hans begun to think that his noises did 
not have the right flavor. The sun was fast sinking 
in the far west. Long shadows were crawling swiftly 
over the ground. The weather was bitterly cold. 
Suddenly some unseen force began tugging at Han’s 
cardigan. Hans finally came forth from his conceal- 
ment and was drawn by this same unseen-force-thing 
toward the barn. He reached the heavy door. The 
door yielded to his persuasive endeavors and slid slowly 

Page 6 


open. The other members of the party were worried 
for their chief. They did not know what was happen- 
ing to Hans. He finally got inside, and wonder of won- 
ders, he found the deer. It was a nice, large buck, 
and he was in truth “hanging around the barn.” 
The farmer had told the party where they could find 
a deer — and they found it. Someone else had found it 
first, and after the sport of bagging the game was over 
dressed the animal and hung it up. 


Poorly Lighted Streets 

No section of the city is more poorly lighted than 
the corporation streets. Numerous incidents can 
be recited where people have fallen over steps in the 
darkness or walked off the curbing into the gutter, 
narrowly escaping serious injury. If this matter lays 
with the city fathers, proper steps should be taken to 
bring about a different state of affairs, and if the 
Company is to blame, let’s find out who is in charge 
of such things and put it up to him. 


And Then She Saw 

The following telephone conversation was over- 
heard on the Coolidge line the other day: 

Shaw — Hello, is this 1-9-1-3? 

Office Girl — No sir, this 3-2-0. 

Shaw — Excuse me, but are you quite sure that 
this is not 1-9- 1-3? 

Office Girl — (indignantly) Certainly I’m sure, 
why this is Mr. Chapman’s room, 3-2-0! ! ! 

Shaw — 0 piffles! Go look at the calendar. 


Page 7 


Here’s a Real Member 

Dear Bill: — Having paid my dues in the Textile 
Club, attended every function that the enterprising 
entertainment committee has provided, given liberally 
of my enthusiasm for the club and its possible home, 
given a good argument to and won over the only man 
in the yard who could not see any good in the club, 
punched a man in the jaw for claiming you was a big 
cheese, and in many other ways turning tricks for the 
benefit of our grand and glorious club, I ask you, as 
man to man, do you think I can do anything more to 
show my loyalty to the club or to the great company 
which is doing so much for its employees? I want to 
be of some service, somewhere. I want to be at least 
a small cog in the great machine that is of so much 
importance to us all. Put my name where you can 
see it at all times and when you want something done 
call on me. You will find me ready at all times to 
respond. 

HUSTLER. 

Dear Hustler: — If 1099 out of the 1100 members 
of the Amoskeag Textile Club had one-half as much 
enthusiasm in their old make-up as you possess, what 
a grand and glorious club we would indeed have. I 
am proud to greet you as a member of the club. I am 
happy to hail you as the one best bet in many hundred. 
I would be more than pleased and dee-lighted to grasp 
the brawny hand that smote upon the jaw the man 
who could so far forget himself as to call me a “big 
cheese.” I abhor cheese. I have a nauseating feeling 
come over me when I even think of cheese, and I want 
to thank you from the bottom of my heart for cham- 
pioning my cheese — I mean cause. If I can ever do 


Page 8 


you for anything — excuse me, do you out of anyth — 
I mean, out do you for any — oh piffles, do you good — 
no, that don’t sound right, either. What I wish to 
convey is that if I can do you at any time — curses, 
if at any time I can do you — Jerry, for goodness sake 
pass the beans. If you want me to do you a favor — 
hurrah — at any time, come and see me. Seriously, 
however, you are the kind of man it is comforting to 
have around. You please me and I’m proud of you. 

BILL. 


Just a Simple Mistake 

A couple of the females employed under Overseer 
Berglund in the worsted burling department pulled off 
a stunt recently that caused some commotion in the 
neighborhood of their lodging place. Without doubt 
the whole thing was caused from going to bed early, 
for about midnight they both awoke at the same time 
and of course thought the trusty alarm clock had got 
in its work. So they dressed and went down stairs, 
talking and laughing as usual. 

Nothing doing in the feed line and they proceeded 
to wake up the rest of the people in the house. When 
they were finally made to realize what time it was, it 
struck them funny and they commenced to laugh. 
The immediate neighbors who had not been disturbed 
before were awakened by the howls of mirth mingled 
with the howls of several nearby dogs led by the one 
in the house. The girls finally quieted down and went 
back to bed after they found that the dog had chewed 
up a nice rat one of the girls had purchased the day 
before. 


Page 9 


Know These Amoskeag Men ? 


f 


A Few Questions 

My troubles have commenced in real earnest. 
I have just received the following letter and of course 
I can’t let it slip by unnoticed: 

Dear Bill: What kind of game are you trying to 
pull off? Do you intend to pose as a human directory 
and encyclopedia combined? Are you going to take 
a chance on having the front of your face moved to 
to the rear by some guy whom you put on the pan? 
Where do you imagine you will get off at? 

Yours to a cinder, 

CHUCK. 

Chuck, I will state right now that you are a 
coward. If you had one brave little crinkle in that 
place where your brain ought to be, you would have 
signed your full name and added your address so that 
I could hunt you up. One would think that I was 
guilty of committing arson or something to that effect, 
the way you fire questions at me. Is it as easy for you 
to say something as it is to ask questions? All I can 
say to you is that if you keep your eagle eye on this 
column you will find that I am all you insinuate and 
also some bear-cat. I expect to get off at the mill 
gate every morning just before six-thirty, and if you 
get ready for the “moving” I’ll be there strong. Next 
time you want to break into the literary game, for 
goodness sake say something and don’t ask foolish 
questions. BILL. 

First Sign of Spring 

I expect to hear almost anytime now that Capt. 
Dave Perkins has lamped the first robin. 


Page 11 


Cultivation of Shuttles 

Alderman Herbert A. Sails, worsted weaving 
overseer, as many are aware, is the owner of a beauti- 
ful farm in Auburn, along the shores of glorious Massa- 
besic Lake. There, he and his family spend the sum- 
mer months. That is, Herb spends his nights there — 
some of them — and on any pleasant Sunday he can 
be seen cavorting around the lake in his handsome 
motor boat Frances. 

This story, however, has nothing to do with the 
beauties and grandeur of Massabesic, nor has a pretty 
boat any connection with the theme intended to be 
conveyed. The chief matter under discussion is 
to show that even when the alderman is supposed to 
be resting, when he is away from his arduous duties 
in the mill, he is ever thoughtful of his employers’ 
interest and is working out a scheme to give greater 
profit to the Company and at the same time increase 
the healthful and sanitary conditions of those who are 
employed under him. 

He has been a little timorous about saying any- 
thing in regard to what he proposes to do, but he has 
finally come out with the story and it is indeed a 
noble thought. 

He has been working out a scheme for cultivating 
shuttles and after three long years of tireless industry 
and experimenting in many different directions he has 
at last hit upon the proper method of procedure. 
Now one would naturally think that to have any- 
thing grow in the ground with any consistency the 
soil should be a trifle moist. Not so with the festive 
shuttle. Great care must be taken that the ground 
is perfectly free from all moisture. Mr. Sails explains 
that this condition is very necessary because of 


Page 12 


moisture causing the shuttle to warp before it has 
attained its full growth, which condition would make 
it unfit for the loom. 

In order to raise shuttles of a healthy, vigorous 
constitution, shuttles that will stand the wear and 
tear to which they are subjected in the weave room, 
it is necessary that the seed, before it is planted, must 
go through a vigorous test and state of preparation. 
No ordinary shuttle seed can be used. The seed, 
or spawn of the shuttle, should be carefully dried, in 
keeping with the condition of the soil into which it is 
to be placed. By working almost incessantly the aider- 
man has at last found the correct method of planting 
shuttles so that perfectly formed results can be ob- 
tained. After the seed has been treated to the special 
secret preparation, it has been learned that he whittles 
the seed to the same shape as the shuttle. When the 
first sprout appears, a full grown shuttle is suspended 
from a shuttle pole in the center of the shuttle patch 
so that the baby shuttle can see what the father shut- 
tle looks like and then the baby shuttle can create its 
own formation accordingly. 

The care of the shuttle plant is something which 
can be accomplished very easily by any graduate of 
an agricultural college. Mr. Sails is very reticent in 
regard to the particular treatment to accord the 
shuttle plant. It is supposed that if you allow it the 
freedom of the house and grounds, the use of the auto- 
mobile and motor boat, the right to smoke in the par- 
lor, or any of the little courtesies usually shown to the 
President of the United States, then you won’t run 
a chance of hurting the little shuttle’s feelings. You 
can at least show that you meant well. Then all you 
will need do before marketing your garden truck is to 


Page 13 


harvest your crop and invite all the boys and girls to 
have a husking. Any good producer of shuttles will 
see that there are plenty of red ones, for you know 
that youth will have its fling. 

Shuttles, the alderman claims, are much harder 
to raise than gimlets. He’s tried them both and says 
that young shuttles are a tender plant and need much 
care. 

Shuttles grown in this manner are much cheaper 
for the textile manufacturers and a great deal more 
healthful and sanitary for the operatives. No more 
shall we read of “the weaver’s kiss of death.” It is 
expected that in consequence of Alderman Sails’ great 
discovery the weavers in our mills will not only put on 
flesh in great layers, but will also improve in their 
morals. It is possible that in a short time they will 
refrain from swiping the hot rolls, doughnuts and 
cheese from the boarding house table and will depend 
entirely upon the vegetable shuttle for the forenoon 
lunch. 

Alderman Sails has accomplished a wonderful 
work. The only remark necessary at this time, truly 
in keeping with the existing circumstances, is as fol- 
lows: “I’m from Missouri and you’ve got to show me.” 

Doesn't Go Well Together 

I am surprised to see that my friend “Ezry” 
Bowman is wearing a piece of common black string 
attached to his right ear and fastened to his eye glasses. 
He at one time supported a delicate gold chain and 
my sense of harmony was shocked when I noticed that 
the string was in mighty poor contrast with his gold 
tooth. 


Page 14 


What's the Use 


To show the stuff that is in some of the overseers, 
the following dialogue, between two of them, which 
took place a day or two after Mr. Sherman’s death, 
is a good example: 

Burler — “What are the flags up for?” 

Weaver — “Why, Vice-President Sherman is 
dead.” 

Burler — “How long has he been with the com- 
pany?” 

Weaver — “I tell you, he was the Vice-President.” 

Burler — “Oh yes, sure. I think I saw him at the 
stockholders’ meeting, yet.” 


Should Button His Coat 

Nearly all of the watchmen are very careful of 
their personal appearance, always striving to look 
military and precise. It certainly does look fierce 
when one of these men, bodyguard to the paymaster, 
goes about with his coat flying open. Tim, you have 
seen enough military service to know what is required 
of a man in uniform. 


Hans Is a Good Friend 

Please do not associate the Mill Waste column 
with Bill Burlingame. He is not the Bill. Aside from 
being an efficient waste expert, and smelt fisherman, 
Bill is also a political speaker of no mean calibre. It 
is nobody’s particular business if he does depend upon 
Hans Armstrong to write his exhortations. 


Page 15 



Frank “Skinny” Flint 

“Skinny” Flint is one of the old-timers in No. 
11 cloth room and the above likeness will be hailed 
with joy by his many friends — and he has a bunch 
of them. 


Page 16 


Risking Death in a Watery Grave 

I often wonder if the city clerk, Arthur W. Phin- 
ney, has ever contracted influenza or hay fever or any 
of those nasal disturbances, by trying to pronounce 
some of the names that are sneezed into his face by 
many of our foreign born people who are foolish enough 
to pay out their good money for the privilege of getting 
murdered — I mean married. 

Here is a couple of samples that certainly are 
beauts: “Wladyslov Wsutkouski” and “Wikloreja 
Dreuban.” Can you beat that? I’ll bet that when 
those people came into Mr. Phinney’s office and be- 
gan to squeeze that stuff through their teeth and nose, 
the city clerk put up his umbrella and donned mack- 
intosh and rubber boots. 

If he was able to pull through the next two days, 
without the services of a physician he is a wonder. 
Can you tell which is the man and which is the woman? 
I think they should apply now for a license to carry 
concealed weapons, for if those people ever get loose 
in a crowd and begin telling who they were before 
marriage and what their name is after marriage, it 
would have the effect of an anarchist bomb explosion 
and goodness knows what damage might be done. 


May Get One Yet 

They tell me that some friends of Jack Platt are 
contemplating purchasing a toy automobile and pre- 
senting it to him in hopes that it will assuage his feel- 
ings at losing out in the recent Leader contest. Jack 
put in some hard work, but the other fellows let out 
a few extra links and beat him to it. 


Page 17 


How About the Club House? 

When the Amoskeag Textile Club was first formed 
the members were promised that a club house would 
be built which would contain all the necessary para- 
phernalia and accommodations needed to make every- 
thing comfortable and up-to-date. I want to ask 
“WHERE IS THAT CLUB HOUSE?” The mem- 
bership has gone well past the thousand mark, is 
steadily creeping upward and the members are wonder- 
ing when that aforesaid building is going to be built. 

Is it because there are not enough members? 
Is it because the ones who promoted the club, and 
made the promises have lost the enthusiasm that was 
shown at that time? Is it because the “men behind 
the gun” refuse to advance the wherewithal for the 
erection of the promised building? Is it because they 
wish to be shown that the time is ripe? Is it because 
there is not enough enthusiasm in the club, among its 
members to warrant the outlay of money? 

Here are questions that can be answered by 
everybody concerned, both the members and the 
promoters. As a club member, I wish to give my 
views. I think the time is ripe. I think that since 
the annual meeting, when the members had an oppor- 
tunity to find out what the club was doing, the en- 
thusiasm is unbounded. Everyone is enthused over 
the work that the committees have done. 

I have heard many say that all we need now is a 
club house of our own where we can do things right. 
Some say that if the McElwain Athletic Association 
can afford to have a club house, why can’t we? If it is 
the kind of enthusiasm needed that is demonstrative, to 
to show that we want the club house, let’s get to- 
gether and make a noise? 

Page 18 


Let’s show the promoters that we still have faith 
in their promises and are ready and willing to go the 
limit in an endeavor to prove that now is the time to 
come across with that building. Let’s all write to the 
Bulletin and express our sentiments, if only in a few 
words, signing our name, thereby proving that nothing 
but the club house will appease our wants. 

You write! Have the other fellow write! Have 
everybody write! Give us the club house! We are 
enthusiastic! We want a place to meet each other! 
We want recreation rooms! We want a building! 
Come on! Help! Write! Tell me what you think. 
You know how I stand, now get a hustle on and declare 
yourself. One big concentrated movement of the 
club members ought to start something. 


Thought Arthur Was Dreaming 

Many of the friends of Arthur Bassett, second 
hand in the southern division yard department, know 
that he was for many years in the western country 
before he went to work for the Manchester Mills. 
Arthur was out there when many bad men of the times 
were holding forth in their favorite haunts and he tells 
some stories that would make one’s hair stand on end. 

The other morning early, when a couple of track 
torpedoes were exploded by a train near the play- 
ground, the neighborhood around Newell street re- 
ceived a severe shock. There was considerable ex- 
citement caused by the noise of the explosions, but 
Jim Edmonds adjusted matters to a normal condi- 
tion when he slowly drawled. “That ain’t nothin’ 
but Arthur Bassett shootin’ up his kitchen, dreamin’ 
he’s a cowboy again.” 


Page 19 


Why Not a Week-End Trip? 

The “Dicky Bird” in the Coolidge mill overheard 
a conversation between two club members the other 
day which might arouse some discussion. In speaking 
of the activities in the social line of the Textile Club, 
the question was asked: 

“Why don’t the entertainment committee ar- 
range some kind of a trip or a visit to some other Tex- 
tile Club out of town, or invite them to come and visit 
us?” 

In former days it was not an uncommon thing 
for single departments in the company to make a visit 
to similar organizations in Lowell, Lawrence and other 
places. What’s the matter with a week end trip for 
the Textile Club? The question is in order. 

What Would’st Thou? 

Dear Bill : — I have my opinion of your high office 
as Editor and possibly could suggest a few require- 
ments needed for your editorial staff, and judging from 
the selection you have made, in some instances, I 
question your ability to surround thyself with good 
timber. Your editorial upon advice as to how the 
other fellow’s business should be done will not permit 
of such liberty in these columns. I sometimes feel 
awed at your brilliant career from a little drummer 
boy to chief editor. I do not wonder you have an 
enlargement in your cob-web house. We remember 
you when you practiced your drum solos on the frame 
of the small card press in No. 11 cloth room. In those 
days you were “fancy free,” graceful, and of uniform 
physique. Perhaps you do not note the change. 

We cannot compare thee, for in all our travels we 


Page 20 


never saw thy equal. To be honest with thee, we do 
not know what proportions thou will’t soon assume. 
We pray that as thee go forwards thee will also go up- 
wards accordingly. We also note with pleasure that 
thy language as editor is a vast improvement upon 
thy conversation over the telephone which verily at 
times is unpalatable, yea terrific. 

We are obliged to like thy jack-o-lantern coun- 
tenance, for thou hast a come-back. We do not fear 
the product of thy sarcastic pen, neither do we fear 
thy dire threats of dark alleys, short uppercuts and 
right arm jabs. In other words we feel thee to be a 
bluffer. I will now leave thee in peace, not desiring 
to disturb thy tranquility, for it’s truthfully written 
that the City of Happiness is found in the State of 
Mind. Yours truly, 

HOOT. 

Dear Hoot — Couldest thouest writest thisist 
prettiest roastest hadest thouest stayedest inest 
Vermontest? No, my friend, thou couldest not. 
The things that thou dost know were consumed into 
thy being along with the city ways that could not find 
lodgement. Ted Lewis and I tried hard to make the 
hayseed of the old green mountain state leave thy 
person, but it has stuck, through all these years. At 
the same time that I was doing the drum solos, you, 
friend Hoot, was busy with the cornet, and it is rightly 
said that thou didst blow thyself half way into the 
horn. Thou wert so thin that the suction of air 
through the horn pulled thee within the instrument. 
It was the first and only time thee didst ever blow 
thyself. Commodore Marsh says ’tis jealousy toward 
my magnificent physique that prompts thy outburst. 

BILL. 


Page 21 


A Brilliant Mathematician 

Dear Bill: — I would like to find out, through the 
columns of the Bulletin, who furnishes copy for the 
basket ball posters. I have not attended any games 
as yet because I did not know how much I would be 
expected to pay for my ticket. You will remember 
that the notice reads “ Gents 20 cents, Ladies 15 
cents.” Now I do not come under either classification. 
I can never hope to be a lady, neither have I any 
aspirations to pose as a “Gent.” 

According to Mark Twain, “a gent is a small 
fraction of a gentleman — to be exact, four-ninths.” 
Mathematically, therefore, if four-ninths cost twenty 
cents, nine-ninths would cost forty-five cents, which 
is, after all, cheap for a gentleman. Being such, I 
hesitate to cause the genial ticket seller embarrass- 
ment in case he be less brilliant in mathematics than 
myself (for, let me say, I fear no man at juggling 
figures, unless it be Teddy Caswell — whose job de- 
mands expert juggling) and I am asking in all sin- 
cerity for information. 

GENTLE JAMES. 

My dear Gentle James: — Honest to goodness, 
James, I’d dearly love to know what your real name 
is. Fll bet a sore tooth that its nearer to Vivian or 
Clarice that it is to Jim. I know some pretty de- 
cent fellows who have the name of Jim and I fail to 
remember one who would be guilty of any such splash 
as the above. One good thing about you is that you 
are not conceited in the least. You don’t want any- 
one to know that there is no one in the village who can 
hold a candle to you when it comes to mathematics. 
I’ll wager a slap on the wrist against a sprained ankle 


Page 22 


that you can almost tell, right quick, how many eggs 
are in a half dozen. Now that you have secured the 
information you asked for, I hope you are satisfied. 

Yours affectionately, 
BILL. 


More Care Needed 

I witnessed an exhibition, recently, that almost 
brought tears to my eyes. I happened to be where I 
could see some of the yard men taking down a flag at 
sunset. They handled it as if they were stripping 
the burlap from a load of cloth. Not content with 
yanking down the flag and wiping up the roof with it 
they dragged it around trying to get it into shape to 
fold, holding it down with their feet and otherwise 
maltreating the glorious banner that men have given 
up their lives to protect. If we are to have the beau- 
tiful American flag flying over our mills, let’s take 
steps to properly instruct the men whose duty it is 
to run it up and take it down. The flag never should 
be allowed to touch the ground. 


Two Able Fishermen 

Christopher Deitlin and William Fellman, loom- 
fixers in the Coolidge mill, have a record for catching 
pickerel through the ice that would make Pete Gunder- 
man look like an amateur. Lack of space prevents a 
detailed account of their catches, but the natives along 
the ’Squog river claim they will have to resort to salt 
cod, as the supply of all fresh varieties has been ex- 
hausted by these experts. 


Page 23 


Here’s a Nutty Story 

I was watching a machinist attaching a large nut 
to a bolt in a piece of machinery, the other day, and it 
struck me as a very peculiar coincidence that the hole 
did not drop on the floor with a thud as the bolt 
gradually forced it from the nut. I could see the end 
of the bolt coming closer and closer to the outer rim 
of the nut, but could not see what became of the hole 
as it was pushed out. Now that hole went somewhere, 
I know, for it was there in the nut when the machinist 
picked it up from the floor. 

Whether or not he palmed the hole or slipped it 
up his sleeve by some quicker-than-the-eye-Ralph- 
Hall trick, I am unable to state, but I am going to 
get a bolt and a nut and work until I solve the problem. 
Still, I suppose it’s just such struggles with scientific 
questions that make men go daffy. If that is so, then 
I’m going to be nutty. 

Why wouldn’t it be a good gag to start a factory, 
in connection with the machine shop, for manufactur- 
ing the holes for the nuts. You could make any size 
hole fit any nut you wanted to. use it in, because the 
holes are pliable and you could easily force a large hole 
into a small nut. Then, its easier to file the hole than 
it is the nut and the hole — nut — was — file — Gee! I 
guess I’m nutty now. 

Raffling the Stove 

Those of us who used to attend the variety shows 
at Music Hall a quarter of a century ago remember 
that every week, almost, either the Irish comedy team 
or the dashing serio-comic would warble a rollicking 
song entitled, “A Raffle for a Stove.” If any of the 


survivors of that happy period imagine that the 
pleasant function of raffling the stove has fallen into 
innocuous desuetude, they may have their minds dis- 
abused of this error by consulting some of the boys of 
the finishing department, or some of the girls who are 
employed in the weave rooms in the southern division; 
provided, however, that they consult some of the 
“byes” or “girruls” who first saw the sunshine on 
the green hill of Connemara in the Emerald Isle. 

The raffle for the stove has been held monthly, 
and at times semi-monthly since Thanksgiving Eve, 
1911, and the stove has reposed all this time in the 
cellar of the original owner who won it back during 
the summer of 1912 and promptly raffled it off again. 
The tickets are sold to practically the same persons 
every time the stove is raffled and from thirty to sixty 
dollars is cleared by the party who for the time con- 
trols the raffle. 

The “time” always takes place on a Saturday 
night and the ticket holders dance to the music of a 
“push and pull” and are regaled, if the holder of the 
stove is not too tight-chested, on lemonade and cake. 
Sometimes a few of the “byes” and “girruls” on whom 
the goddess of chance has never smiled, get dis- 
gruntled and refuse to buy a ticket, but when they 
hear of the good fortune of the last winner in cleaning 
up forty or fifty dollars, and begin to speculate on 
how much the next owner of the stove will make, they 
generally relent and try it “wance more.” 

Few of the many owners of the stove have ever 
seen it, and no one but the original owner knows what 
condition it is in, but still the tickets are printed and 
still the raffle comes off monthly or semi-monthly and 
bids fair to become an established institution. 


Pag* 25 



This Checked Apron Was Made from Amoskeag Gingham 


Page 26 


He Helped a Heavyweight 

The old adage that “One good turn deserves 
another” was very forcibly illustrated one morning 
last week, and as a result one of the chivalrous young 
men in the Coolidge mill has been eating his meals 
standing up. There had been a slight snow fall the 
evening before, just enough to cover the slippery 
places, and one of the McGregorville hills used by our 
friend John Otteler, was very treacherous in places. 
As he hurried along he noticed a woman flying the 
distress signals, whose mammoth proportions did not 
warrant her apparent timidity. 

John’s gallantry would not permit him to see a 
woman in trouble, so he politely offered his assistance. 
Of course it was accepted and everything progressed 
nicely till the middle of the hill was reached, when 
John, in attempting to glance at his fair companion 
failed to see the icy place they were approaching. 

All rules of gravitation were soon shattered and 
a combination of 250 pounds, John, and several dinner 
boxes gave the passing mill people a real live moving 
picture show which proved very humorous to them, 
but a painful experience to the participants. 

John has sworn off helping the ladies, and says, 
between limps, “Never again for the heavy-weights.” 


More About the Shower Bath 

No attention seems to have been paid to my kick 
about the waterfall in the Filter building doorway. 
You can take it from me that it is some cataract when 
the weather is right. I’m very liable to get personal 
before long. 


Page 27 


She Should Be Spanked 

Dear Mr. Bill: — You have put a good many dif- 
ferent things into your Mill Waste column, and I am 
wondering if you will help me out with some of your 
good advice. The second hand where I work and I 
have been very friendly for several months, in fact we 
are beginning to care a great lot for each other. I have 
never met him outside the mill yard, for the reason 
that he is a married man and I am a married woman. 
My husband is a loom fixer in another room and is 
awful good to me. He gives me his envelope every 
pay day. He takes me to the picture shows twice a 
week and we have a fine time. I like him all right 
when I am with him, but during the day when I see 
my second hand I forget my husband. My second 
hand wants me to go away with him and live in some 
other mill city where we are not known. I am a hand- 
some American girl, with dark hair, red cheeks and 
pearly teeth, and the men all turn around and look 
at me when I go along the street. My form is perfect 
and I know that I am attractive. Would you go away 
if you was me? My second hand is not so good looking 
as my own husband, but he has lovely hair and hands. 
Please tell me what to do. 

DOROTHEA. 

P. S. That is not my own name, my own name is 

, but I read that one in a book and I like 

it. If I go away I shall call myself that. D. 

My dear madam : — While I do not intend to pose 
as a reconstructor of marital disillusionments (what- 
ever that is), still I am proud to say that I am some 
“fixer.” Now please don’t confound that word with 
“loom fixer.” He and I are two very much different 


Page 28 


species of “fixer / 7 You ask me if I would go away if 
I was you. Did you ever see me? If you have, can 
you imagine me ever changing from a light-haired 
rotund young man to a handsome, dark-haired, pearl- 
toothed maiden with red cheeks? Little girl, there is 
never a chance in the world that I will ever be you. 
But I would like to be your oldest brother for about 
twenty-eight or thirty minutes. You can bet your 
sweet young life that I would deal out advice to you 
in a manner that would make you use great care and 
caution when it came meal time. The best thing you 
can do is to give your second-hand friend the icy mitt. 
Give him the mighty heave. He certainly is a second- 
hand friend. Stick to your hubby, child, and take in 
the movies with him more often. You’ll find plenty 
of good lessons in the pictures fitting your case exactly. 
Another thing, suppose you take a long look at 
yourself in the mirror. See if you can’t find one thing 
sticking out of your face that ought to shame you. Do 
you see the conceit? Aren’t you ashamed? I’m afraid 
that you have been reading too much of that Jaura 
Lean Jibbey stuff and I would advise you to cut it 
out. Keep on taking the old man’s envelope and be 
sure the stuff is in it all intact, and forget that “Doro- 
thea” thing also. Don’t call yourself that. If you 
do, people will call you something worse. 

BILL. 


Filling Couldn't Walk 

Loom Fixer — “Well, how are they coming, my 
lad?” 

Filling Boy — “They don’t come, sir, I have to 
go get them.” 


Page 29 


Side-Stepping a Chance to Help 

Dear Bill : — As we eagerly devour the contents of 
each edition of the Bulletin, we look in vain for matter 
that would indicate an interest being taken in its 
progress by men we naturally look upon as leaders. 
When one pauses to consider the real cause for our 
club’s existence and the part our official organ is 
playing towards that end, we cannot help exhibiting 
surprise that these men have not given more attention 
to it. If these gentlemen don’t commence to furnish 
some good material, spin some choice yarns, weave 
a few interesting narratives, or lend a little color to 
the scene, that matter might be referred to a commit- 
tee to investigate “the men higher up.” 

KINKO. 

My dear Kinko: — You have struck a chord that 
should find response in many hearts. You have given 
the proverbial spike a swat on the bean that should 
bring forth tears of remorse from those gentlemen who 
have the privilege of coming in afterwards and going 
out before. I take it that you mean the superinten- 
dents connected with the Amoskeag. These gentle- 
men are supposedly bright fellows. If they were not 
men of great intellectuality they could not hold the 
high positions in the plant they are now filling. Per- 
haps they think they do not need to help out such an 
enterprise as the Amoskeag Bulletin. You don’t 
suppose, do you, that they feel as if the work would be 
beneath their dignity and that they would lower 
themselves in public esteem if they should stoop to 
newspaper work of any kind? Well, never mind, 
Kinko, old chap, you and I can think what we please, 
and sometimes, perhaps, we will express ourselves in 


Pagt 30 


forcible language in these columns. While wondering 
why these gentlemen of quality sidestep the chance to 
help the Amoskeag and its thousands of employees 
by writing for the Bulletin, we feel consoled from the 
fact that this state of affairs is in keeping with their 
enthusiasm (?) for the Amoskeag Textile Club and 
the many great things that the club is carrying on. 

BILL. 


He Threw a Basket 

Here’s the story since you ask it, 

Of the boy who dropped the basket 

On a certain night near St. Cecelia hall. 

There were eggs within the basket, 

That boy’s grief, he couldn’t mask it, 

When he saw that they were broken one and all. 
As he started in a-wailing 
(For he knew he’d get a whaling) 

He was jollied by a man, well dressed and tall. 
This man started in by saying, 

“Hey, what game is this you’re playing?” 

And the weeping urchin answered “Basket-bawl.” 


Tire and Other Troubles 

Alderman Ralph Nelson says he sleeps better 
nights, now, because he has stored away his auto for 
the winter. The big things that he intends to pull off 
in the board of aldermen are indeed small compared 
to some of the work he put in last summer getting his 
machine to the garage, at times. 


Page 31 


Trying to Find Something 

Dear Will Baste: — I read in the editorial columns 
of the last issue something that seems to have been 
misplaced. It more closely follows the style in your 
column, at least you probably could solve those 
problems. I refer to the naughty problem stuff. How 
about it? In another place it speaks of the “last issue” 
of the Bulletin. I hope there will be more. Do not 
stop now. LANKY. 

Lank — Your powers of perception together with 
your self satisfied appearance of trying to show people 
that you know something, may some day put you 
in a position where you will be obliged to fight your 
way out. No doubt you have been eagerly hunting 
for some kind of mistake in the make-up of the 
Bulletin or a typographical error that would bring 
discredit upon the editors, and at last, you have found 
what you consider something that needs attention. 
Sarcasm is fine, when it gets to the right place, and if 
I was of a turn of mind that is revengeful, I would 
write something about your habits that would get you 
into trouble. But I won’t. I’ll acknowledge that you 
are a smart man — not. I notice that you use the 
same expression, “last issue.” How about that? 

BILL. 


The Shower Bath Again 

Three times and out! This is the third time I 
have called attention to the water fall on the steps 
of the filter building. If Perry Dow doesn’t soon remedy 
the condition of affairs I’ll print his name in this col- 
umn. 

Page 32 


Classified Advertisments 


LOST — Opportunity to shake hands with a friend 
of mine, somewhere between the southern division and 
pay day. Finder will be rewarded with a short story 
of my life. Return to A. W. Eastman, No. 3 mill, 
southern division. 

WANTED — Anyone having old suspenders can 
perform a merciful act by sending them to John L. 
Mitchell, English drawing, southern division. 

WANTED — Book-keeping, painting, blacksmith- 
ing, and tin roofiing to do during spare moments. I 
will be very grateful to anyone who can furnish me 
with hard work to fill in my idle hours. Communi- 
cate with A. K. Hobbs, accident department. 

WANTED — I will trade a perpetual grouch for a 
hole in the canal large enough to dive into. Offers 
of an affected appendix will be considered. Apply to 
Henry P. Foss, southern division. 

WANTED — A few new words to use on the yard 
hands. Must be better than any I already have 
at my command. See Arthur Bassett, care of 
Spaulding's nap-room. 

LOST — An argument. Finder return to James 
M. Yuill, Langdon weave room. 

WANTED — Partner for golf through the winter 
months. Howard Russell, any spinning room. 

WANTED — Anyone knowing of a good remedy 
for too much fat will please communicate with James 
Murdock, Amoskeag office. 

FOR SALE — I have discovered a new cure for 
bald heads. Will sell it for a healthy head of hair. 
Wm. Grocock, northern division. 


Page 33 


Shirley’s Swollen Jaw 

Shirley Worthen would be interesting in a position 
in front of a cigar store as a living example of the God 
Nicotine. He has just recovered from a serious attack 
of nicotina enlargement of the jaw bone. It is said 
this disease was prevalent in Balaam’s stock yard. 
For more than a week he sported a lump on his chin 
that put one in mind of Mt. Vesuvius in action. 

In-growing hair he called it, but you would have 
thought from appearances they had all grown in. 
With the immense bandage around the front of his 
jaw, to a stranger he gave the impression of being just 
back from the Balkan war. 


Paid a Fancy Price 

Well what do you know about this? Bob Leg- 
gett has become a connoisseur in pipes. And you can 
all take a quiet tip from Bill that if you have any old, 
smoked-out pipes laid away on the back fence or up 
in the garret, just bring them around and Bob will 
pay fancy prices for them. Now if he’d go in for cigar 
ribbons, tobacco tags, cigarette pictures and such 
things a fellow wouldn’t mind so much, but when he 
takes up with old pipes — holy mackerel, that’s the 
limit! 

He’s liable to buy almost any kind of disease, along 
with the juice-soaked dudeens, and his robust pro- 
portions would more than likely fade to nothingness 
because of his craze for the new fad he has taken up. 
Next to his former desire to shine as a senator, this 
latest attack is the worst ever. 

Billy Grocock is the mean cuss who put over a 


Page 34 


bum bargain on Bob the other day. Billy has proved 
himself to be as shy of tenderheartedness as he is of 
hair, but the extent of his nerve evens up what he 
lacks in other perquisites. He owned a pipe, a com- 
mon, low down clay pipe with a broken stem. He had 
another pipe with a broken bowl that had a rubber 
mouthpiece, so he attached the mouthpiece to the 
short stemmed T D and appeared to enjoy his smoke 
and was apparently satisfied with his thriftiness. 

Bob got a farsighted look at the pipe and asked if 
it was for sale. Billy allowed it was, whereupon Bob 
dug into his jeans and produced a handful of coins. 
Billy handed over the pipe, took the change and 
walked rapidly away. He found that Bob had given 
him $1.22 for the pipe that was worth nothing. 

Now if Bob Leggett has got this pipe bug so bad 
that he will pay that amount of money for a worthless 
pipe he surely would dig down right handsome for a 
regular quarter one. I hope he gets pipes enough, for 
when a man creates an appetite for something, it 
must be satisfied. 


John Kept the Presents 

John Prescott of No. 11 packing room, was given 
a surprise party by his friends last Tuesday evening, 
in honor of his birthday. He was the recipient of 
many useful gifts. What John cannot decide is 
whether they sought to celebrate his last or his next 
birthday, which comes next month. Somebody 
slipped a cog in the general scheme of things but John 
isn’t giving back the gifts. As I figure it they can 
only square themselves by giving him another party 
next month. 


Page 35 



J. Adam Graf 


This sketch of Mr. Graf was taken while he was 
at York Beach late in August. He certainly looks 
as if he was enjoying himself to the limit. 

Page 36 


I Deserve This Wallop 

Dear Bill: — No, Billy, I did not lose an opportu- 
nity on the hand shake, but have been disappointed, 
I was about to say, since I came to the southern divis- 
ion. I was taught, when a child, to always take the 
hand of an honest man. I have been searching for 
that fellow for years, but have been disappointed in 
my search. I did think when I first became acquainted 
with the editor of the Amoskeag Bulletin that my 
hopes had been realized, but have decided that here- 
after I will clasp my own hand, and give up the hunt. 

A. W. E. 


They Meant All Right 

Two loomfixers, while returning home from No. 
11 mill last Monday night, caught what they supposed 
to be a runaway horse attached to a hayrack. They 
climbed in and drove to the police station where they 
were instructed to take the rig to Freeman’s stable. 
On the way they met a Polander who owned the outfit 
and who promptly charged them with stealing his 
property. He lit into them so viciously that both 
men jumped the rail and beat it for home, much to 
the delight of the hundreds of fellow- workmen who 
had gathered to enjoy the fun. 


There Is an Attraction 

They tell me that Mel. Jenkins has purchased a 
set of files and a bunch of blank keys and is trying to 
fit one (a key, not a file) to the telephone exchange 
door. 


Page 37 


How About the Promise? 

My little spasm in regard to the proposed club 
house certainly did start something. In another 
column will be found a few of the replies received. 
There are yet many members of the club who have 
not expressed themselves one way or another. Why 
is it? Are you afraid of something? What are you 
afraid of? We have been promised a club house, 
that is the main point at issue, and the years are slip- 
ping by without that promise being fulfilled. It is up 
to you to come across with a statement as to whether or 
not, in your opinion, you are satisfied to let the matter 
rest with the promise. Nobody will bite you or cut 
your head off. The promoters have said we would 
have a club house. To them we say “BUILD IT.” 


This Is a Small World 

Just to show how small this bloomin’ world is, 
I wish to use as an illustration a peculiar accident that 
occurred to three Amoskeag men who were in New 
York a few days ago, Bill Pepler, Frank Clarke and 
Clint Dow were in the big burg on a business trip. 
Frank and Clint were on their way up Broadway in a 
taxicab about 6 p. m., (Bill had followed a team off 
on a side street earlier in the afternoon and was lost) 
and going at the usual feverish speed that autos and 
everything else attain, when a handsome traffic officer 
threw up his commanding lunch hook and stopped 
the cab. The stop was so sudden that the occupants 
were hurled against the front of the cab and before 
they could scramble up there was a crash. 

Another taxi in the rear did not stop as quickly 


Page 38 


as the first one and the result was a rear-end collision. 
Frank and Clint were out of the cab in less than no 
time, prepared to wreak dire vengeance upon the 
occupants of the offending machine. They rushed 
toward the taxi with daggers of blood shooting from 
their eyes and nearly fainted when they recognized 
the gentleman who calmly descended from the auto, 
slowly stroking his mustache as he inquired, “What 
are you fellows trying to do?” 

The gentleman in question was Superintendent 
John C. Marshall and the three friends immediately 
held an old home week reunion in the middle of Broad- 
way. I guess they thought they were up on the river 
road, for it took a detachment of reserves from a near- 
by police station twenty minutes to get traffic once 
more in its proper procession. 


Blew Out the Lights 

I happened into the employment department 
building the other night just before the glee club 
orchestra began its regular weekly practice. My old 
friend Ray Carpenter was there with his cornet and 
he made the building ring with beautiful cadenzas 
and preludes. He reached for a high note and as he 
almost got it the lights went out and Fred Foster 
blamed him for the delay caused by darkness. 


Advertising Pays 

John Mitchell reports that his ad asking for sus- 
penders brought many kinds of results. For several 
days he was busy signing for special delivery packages. 


Page 39 


Easy One To Answer 

Dear Bill: — You claim that you will answer 
questions that are put to you, so I am going to heave 
one at you just to see if you can deliver the goods. 
Suppose the big chimney on the west side fell toward 
the chimney in the southern division and the latter 
fell toward the former, how many inches apart would 
the nearest brick from the west side chimney be from 
the nearest brick of the southern division chimney? 

SOOT. 

Dear Soot: — Huh, that’s easy. After consulting 
my “Know-it” book and making a few careful de- 
ductions I find that the distance will be exactly 
6,724,259 and fifteen-sixteenths of an inch. Of course 
I could have figured it down a little closer if Charlie 
Heselton was here, but if you don’t believe I’m right 
you push over the chimneys and measure the distance 
yourself. I’ll be willing to bet that I’m not more 
than a sixteenth of an inch out of the way. You’ve 
got to get a hard one before you can show me up. 

BILL. 


She Burst the Hat 

Miss Abbie M. Adams, clerk in the general weav- 
ing office of the worsted department, was at the 
meeting of the Woman’s Textile Club, a few nights 
ago, and made several ineffectual attempts to gain 
the floor for the purpose of making a speech. She 
finally succeeded in her endeavor and made an 
eloquent address to the members of the club. When 
she finished her outburst of oratory she sat down 
on her hat and burst that also. 


Page 40 


Shovelled the Wrong Walk 

The likeness of the Queen Anne cottages on Mc- 
Gregor street is a source of much bother for some 
people to know exactly where they are at, but when 
one of the tenants will go so far as to get mixed up, it’s 
a real funny thing. During the recent snow storm 
Albert Montgomery, thinking he could work off a 
little superfluous avoirdupois, went to the store and 
purchased a new snow shovel and going back he 
cleaned his next door neighbor’s walk very nicely, not 
finding out his mistake until the lady opened the door 
just as he finished and handed him a dime. 


I Know Doctor Hobbs 

Dear Bill: — I see they have snubbed you at the 
accident department — you and your paper. The 
visiting nurse’s room is full of all sorts of literature, 
but not a copy of the Bulletin. Now Bill, this should 
not be thus. In fact, I don’t like the thusness of it at 
all. The Bulletin ought to be there for sick people 
to read. It will make them well. At least, I think it 
will. It makes lots of well people sick. Haven’t you 
enough pull to get a subscription out of Dr. Hobbs? 
Are you afraid? Just because he is bigger than you, 
is no excuse. Go to it! I want to see you get the 
Bulletin in there or know the reason why. If he does 
you physical harm, just call on me and if you can 
catch me, I will gladly come to your aid. 

GENTLE JAMES. 

Dear Gentle James: — It seems as if the Bulletin 
would be incomplete without some kind of Billy Dux 
from you. Now while your intentions are without 

Page 41 


doubt mighty good, still I must say that I think you 
are acquainted, only slightly, with my very dear 
friend, Dr. Hobbs. If you knew him as well as I, you 
would surely realize that the “pull” necessary to get 
anything out of “Doc” would tax the strength of Perry 
Dow’s strongest hoisting machine. Acting upon your 
suggestion, fl will see that the V. N. is supplied with a 
copy of the Bulletin for her office table. Thank you 
for your double offer of assistance, but there is no 
cause for alarm on my account. 

BILL. 


Where I Can Sleep 

I can slumber very sweetly, 

Get rested up completely, 

On an iron, brass, or e’en a wooden bed. 

I have no chronic grouch, 

’Gainst a sofa or a couch 

Upon either I could rest my weary head. 

Yes, upon a wooden pallet 
I’d sleep peacefully, nor shall it 

E’er be said that from a snow white cot I shrunk 
I can sleep most anywhere, 

But I so dislike hot air, 

That I can’t rest on a politician’s “bunk.” 


May Have Another Holiday 

It is rumored that a member of the incoming 
legislature from the Coolidge mill is to introduce a bill 
making March 17th (St. Patrick’s Day) a legal holi- 
day. 


Page 42 


Make ’Em Steam Up 

Dear Bill: — I have been watching with interest 
the enthusiasm of the Bulletin on the club house 
proposition, and I believe you are right. I want to 
see that club house, and think it a rational idea. But 
how about your board of governors, Bill? Why are 
they so quiet on this subject? Not one but yourself 
has shown his hand. Are they afraid? If you could 
make them steam up a bit, you might be able to pull 
the thing off. Make 'em go like you went the day 
you ran all the way home on Ralph Page's telephone 
call and found your wife at the theatre instead of on 
a sick bed. Why, Bill, if you could get them to 
blowing the way you were blowing that day, after 
you ran up the hill — if you could get them to start 
something the way you started the perspiration in 
your amateur fireman stunt — if you can make them 
think they are called upon for an opinion as truly as you 
thought you were called home that day, then the club 
members will feel that the governors are more nearly 
living up to their responsibilities. Up and at ’em, Bill! 

GOFERUM. 


Taken With a Grain of Salt 

Julian Lambert, of the Coolidge mill, intends 
to give Capt. Dave Perkins a run for the first story of 
spring robins, etc. Jule says he saw and tried to 
capture a butterfly on March 1st. If you remember, 
that day was some day. Thunder, rain, hail, snow, 
sleet and all the rest of it happened, and I am begin- 
ning to think that something besides water runs out 
of Rock Rimmon, back of Jule's house. 


Page 43 


The Money Grubber 

What does it profit a man though he gains the 
whole world if he loses the use of his leg? Ambition has 
been the downfall of many a man, and it also has been 
the making of a good many. But in this particular 
case it certainly has been the undoing of a no greater 
personage than the illustrious Shirley E. Worthen. 
In Plug’s younger days his one ambition seemed to 
be to separate himself from the clear McCoy, but when 
he took unto himself a wife he became tighter than 
the bark on a tree and started preaching economy. 
His object in life was to be called a money king, and 
the way he gathered the cents one would think he 
certainly would be a King if he lived long enough. 

Shirley worked nights at the Salvation Army 
home sorting rags and papers, for which he received 
fifty cents a week. He also worked for Harko, 
Saturday afternoons, and nights, and Monday morn- 
ings he got the habit of asking out at ten for a 
few minutes. He said he was to have his teeth fixed, 
but one of the boys followed him and saw him 
enter the Manchester Bank. Money didn’t seem to 
accumulate fast enough to suit the ambitious Plug, so 
when his folks-in-law wanted to take a vacation for a 
few weeks Shirley was just the man to hire to look after 
the flats. Shirley figured he would get two weeks’ 
board and room free, and besides he would get a little 
money for his work. 

Everything went along according to schedule 
until the last few days, when the unforeseen happened. 
Shirley got up late one morning and started for the 
cellar to look after the boiler, when in some way he 
slipped and hit his knee against one of the pillars, 
and, being as soft in the knee as he is in the heart, he 

Page 44 


had the bad luck to crack his knee cap. Of course 
the doctor had to be called, and poor Plug is now 
walking around the office with a stiff leg. 

He was telling the boys he felt sure he was going 
to be a big loser in this last undertaking, and in the 
future he would pass up all extra work and live today 
and let tomorrow take care of itself, as he did in the 
days gone by. 


Readily Explained 

Hi Turner got stung. The other day, after the 
paymaster had finished making Hi’s help happy and 
had gone to Dick Sanborn’s department, a young 
fellow rushed to him and said he was ten dollars short 
in his pay. Without looking in the envelope Hi 
speeded up to catch the paymaster, who opened the 
envelope and extracted therefrom a ten-dollar gold 
piece. The young fellow had thought it was a half 
dollar. Hi said: “ — ! — ! — !” and more than that, 
but I can’t print it. 


Keep Wash Rooms Clean 

Speaking about sanitary wash rooms and places 
of that sort, I wonder if the overseers who have been 
fortunate enough to get the new kind installed take 
any pains to keep them clean. They should show their 
appreciation of the Company’s good work by getting 
after the scrub and showing him what his duty is. 
The overseer doesn’t necessarily have to wield a mop, 
but it is up to him to see that the work is done right. 


Page 45 


He Wouldn’t Stand Loafing 

They tell me that a hen recently tried to put one 
over on Chandler Potter. It seems that Chan bought 
this hen a few days since and carried it home with 
the intention of having boiled fowl for his Sunday 
dinner. He put it in the cellar, intending to decapitate 
the bird at the proper moment. When the moment 
for execution arrived, Chan, armed with a hatchet, 
descended upon his prey, but the bird looked up at 
him so pleadingly that his courage failed him. 

Instead, he fed her some meat and potatoes. 
In sheer gratitude, the hen laid an egg the next day 
and continued to do so for a week. One morning 
she failed to do her duty, and Chan, filled with 
indignation, went out to consult with his friends. 

They succeeded in convincing him that he was 
being imposed upon and screwed up his courage to 
such a point that he went home, fell upon that hen 
and severed her cervical vertebrae. Chan says he 
doesn’t intend to support any hen in idleness, con- 
sidering the present high cost of living. 


The Horrors of a Name 

George Nicholas Manning. Heavens, what a 
a name! If I was sentenced to go through life with 
such a name as that tacked onto me, I’d take a steamer 
for the war infested country and end my days in 
Greece — I mean in peace. Ye Gods! What a horrible 
thing to contemplate! To be named George is 
bad enough, but when it comes to Nicholas — pre- 
serve me from such a nightmare. 


Page 46 


He’s Got the Political Bug 

Oscar Poehlman is employed in the Coolidge mill, 
which boasts of having two members in the present 
legislature; and the story goes that our friend, enjoy- 
ing a spring vacation, thought it a fine plan to spend 
a day with the solons in Concord to see how they did 
business. Arrangements were made, and Oscar was 
found a seat on the floor of the house beside the 
Coolidge member, and was soon enjoying a close 
view of the busy doings of our “all year” legislature. 
The most important bill brought before the house 
that day was the committee report on the 54-hour 
bill. 

Oscar, of course, was greatly interested, and 
during the debate became enthused. When the 
speaker called for a division on the majority report 
and the ayes were called for, Oscar, in the excitement 
of the moment, hollered a mighty “Aye” which was 
easily heard above the voters’ voices. A gentle (?) 
poke in the ribs from the friend beside him soon 
brought him back to earth and reminded him that 
he was only a visitor and not one of the voting 
members. 

Oscar had at one time ambitions for the simple 
life of a farmer, but all those flights of fancy have been 
exploded, and his mind is now occupied with the 
study of “Cushing’s Manual” and “How to be a 
Successful Legislator.” 

Too Bad for Bill 

Bill Taft said he was “a man of straw.” If he 
had had part of the energy of some people by that 
name (Straw) he would be President yet. 


Page 47 


New Use for Maple Syrup 

There is sure some class to Mike Connors. A 
few days ago he took his bunch of dusky Greeks over 
behind the foundry to break up castings. The method 
usually pursued is to break them by means of a small 
pile-driver. On arriving, it was found that the hoist- 
ing gear was somewhat rusty, so Mike hied himself 
to the stable in search of oil. He found a bottle and, 
returning, proceeded to oil up the gearing and blocks. 

After slushing them freely, they worked better, 
so he returned the bottle to the stable. Here he ran 
into Professor Buck, the equestrian artist and custodian 
of the Amoskeag stables, who, in the name of the Great 
Jehovah and the Continental Congress, demanded 
to know what he was doing with that bottle. Mike 
boldly replied that he had been greasing up the 
derrick. 

The aforesaid custodian laid back his ears and let 
forth a mighty yell. “Greasing up the derrick! Great 
Gods, man! That was a bottle of maple syrup I 
brought for my dinner!” 

We will draw the curtain at this point, but friends 
of Mike are getting bids on maple syrup in wholesale 
quantities, and, it is said, Mike has already placed 
orders that will fill that oil barrel he sawed open for 
the Boy Scouts for a drinking water barrel, and which 
they so unfeelingly rejected. It has been said that 
“labor is sweet.” If this be true, breaking up castings 
at present must be doubly so. 

John Parkinson, Take Notice 

It is a lucky fisherman who finds someone who 
will believe him. 


Page 48 


New Department Suggested 

Dear Willie: — I have a very humble suggestion 
to make which, if followed, might lend enchantment 
to your shining paper. The incentive for this sug- 
gestion was gained from my trips about the mills. 
How many times have you in your travels passed by 
the different offices and seen some poor, unsuspecting 
maid standing in front of the mirror primping? Now, 
always remembering “Woman's Rights,” why not 
start a column on “Beauty Hints and Love Chats?” 
Just think what a help it would be to the young 
ladies (and to some of the old ones also.) 

Of course such an important department would 
need an important head, well versed in the affairs and 
manners of the fair sex. Therefore I propose Doctor 
“Dick” Hobbs as the editor. 

I hope this suggestion will merit some meditation 
on the part of the Bulletin editor, and will call forth 
some remarks from the Woman's Textile Club on its 
possibilities. 

Suggestively yours, 

BRUTUS. 


Afraid of the Dog 

They do say that Tom O’Neil has been afraid to 
go outside the pipe storehouse after dark on account 
of a poor little dog that has been making his head- 
quarters underneath the building. He says (Tom, 
not the dog) that he will take no chances with the ani- 
mal, and has enlisted the aid of Con Healy, the south- 
ern division sleuth. Here is an opportunity for Con 
to make good. 


Page 49 



Page 50 


Jake Kennedy's Troubles 

Jake Kennedy of the manufacturing office had 
his nails manicured the other day, and being such a 
handsome brute, the fair maid who undertook the 
task became so charmed and confused that she 
punctured the cuticle and then puttied it up with 
nail polish. It resulted in blood poisoning, and he 
has two fingers bandaged so that they look like the 
turban on the Shah of Persia. If somebody would 
kindly loan him a crutch it would greatly assist him 
in his daily perambulations between Wilson Hill and 
the office. It is needless to say that he suffers excru- 
ciating pain. 

Jake is a very modest young man and probably 
will read this article with reluctance and deep abhor- 
rence. However, everybody likes Jake and nobody 
wants to see him perish while flowers are so high. 
Speaking about flowers, somebody should sprinkle 
a little grass seed on Jake’s head, as I think the entire 
crop is winter killed. However, his bald head is quite 
a help on dark days, as it reflects the light to all parts 
of the office. 

Patching the Bridge 

A rumor was current last week to the effect that 
another patch had been installed upon the planking 
of the river bridge at the central division. Investiga- 
tion showed the rumor to be unfounded. I under- 
stand, however, that plans are being drawn by A1 
Sanborn and his corps of assistants at the draughting 
department, and the purchasing department is asking 
for bids on two pieces of plank, for patch-work. 
Evidently someone believes in buying in quantities. 

Page 51 


Dropping In the Throat 

I was surprised to see in a local theatre program 
that my friend Clarence Woodbury had been a sufferer 
at one time or another, with a severe case of dropping 
in the throat. It was a testimonial from Clarence and 
was certainly a boost. What I don’t understand, is 
about that dropping-in-the-throat thing. A number 
of men of my acquaintance, holding the same kind of 
a position as my friend Clarence, are also afflicted 
with a constant dropping in the throat. They do not 
call it an affliction, however, but refer to it as a pleasant 
realization of quenching a thirst. Its a funny thing 
how people will call the same thing by different names.. 


The Mud Flats 

I’m mighty glad I don’t live in that part of the 
corporation that rests on the western hip of Bedford 
street. Talk about mud flats and the need of bridges! 
The inhabitants of these houses are obliged to do a 
Blondin act over a narrow board to get within striking 
distance of the doorway. If anyone misses the board 
and steps off one side, they will go down out of sight 
into a mass of mud and mire. The fact that I don’t 
have to navigate any of those boards makes me more 
contented with being a fat man. 


Maybe He , ll Learn 

Some day Shirley Worthen will meet some one 
who has got a stiff short arm jab and will tell him the 
amount of poison there is in certain kinds of paper. 

Page 52 


Bill Got the Bird 


I believe Bill Burlingame would take candy from 
a baby. He went out gunning the other day with Tip 
Parker and pulled off a stunt that would make even 
Bob Leggett blush through his sunburn. After Tip 
had brought down two nice plump woodcock and Bill 
had missed every shot he made, the former fired at 
a bird and asked Bill if he got him. The sun was in 
his eyes as he fired the shot and he thought he missed. 
Bill took advantage of the situation and rushing in 
the direction of the bird quickly let go both barrels. 
He triumphantly showed Tip the bird and brought it 
home. Fm sorry Burlingame’s first name is “Bill.” 


Bill Is Flying High 

In a recent issue of a local paper, in the “Purely 
Personal” column, is an item stating that William H. 
Topping made a “flying trip” to New Hampshire 
from Washington. Believe me, that was some fly, 
especially at a time when the weather was the coldest 
of the season, too. I wonder did he use a monoplane, 
biplane, aeroplane or a plain plane. I remember 
Willie when he rubbed his fancy vest against a stand-up 
desk over in No. 11 cloth room, some years back, but 
since he quit the mill he certainly has been flying high. 


Perhaps There’s a Reason 

Perley Smith says that mushrooms are not so 
plentiful down around the weirs as they were during 
Mutt Bryant’s time. 


Page 53 


Watch Out for a Ducking 

I wouldn’t for the world butt into anyone’s 
private affairs, but if something isn’t done soon I’m 
mighty afraid we’ll hear of a duel being fought between 
two of our prominent students, John Mitchell and 
Harold Smith. They are students all right. No 
question about it. But I am not alluding to their 
desire for book lamin’. They are students of a 
different type. Students of feminine charms. That’s 
what they are. 

What troubles me just at this time is the fact that 
both of the young men are working on the same 
subject. I can’t tell which is gaining most in the race, 
but if the girls up in Sullivan’s cigar factory get wise 
to the tete-a-tetes there’ll be some hopping around 
Central street one of these days about noon time. 
I hope this won’t put John wise to Harold. 


If He Only Could 

They tell me that one of the best ornamental 
brick layers on the Amoskeag is Charles William Phil- 
brick Bailey. Now if Charlie could only lay eggs in- 
stead of brick, under the present high prices he might 
form a trust and found a family fortune. 


It Is Explained 

It has just leaked out that the jovial spirit which 
is a continuous performance with Charlie Shaw is due 
to the fact that his boyhood days were spent under the 
baleful glance of corporation policeman Hod Marshall. 


Page 54 


Swat the Fly ! 

Now that fly time is near, 

We’ll from scientists hear: 

“Swat the fly! Swat the fly!” they will shout, 
But no batter should try 
To go swatting a fly, 

With three men on the sacks and two out. 
Men of science declare 
That the fly has a share 

In the spread of disease, sure enough, 

And flies do, it’s no “con,” 

Heart disease is brought on 

By the flies that the outfielders muff. 


Reinforcements Here 

I see that there is a new voter over in Ward 8 — 
that is, he will be a voter some day. Billy Boland, 
second hand in the southern division pipe shop, forgot 
to pass the cigars, but he takes great pride in telling 
his friends about the little stranger that has come to 
his home. 


He Loves It, and Who Shall Dare 

George Rumrill has a stool at his table in No. 11 
cloth room which has been his constant companion 
for the past thirty years. It was given to him Oct. 9, 
1883, and is highly prized by its possessor. Each year 
he seriously contemplates the advisability of taking 
it with him on his annual vacation. 


Page 55 


Every Knock a Boost 

Charles 0. Eastman has heard a rumor that the 
Mill Waste column is hereafter to be made a humorous 
column and hastens to send in his protest, assuring 
us that it is better as it is. It is a wonder to us that 
Charlie has never broken the handle of his hammer. 


Saving His Breath 

Our old friend, Bill Burlingame, says he doesn’t 
propose to answer any questions propounded by this 
column. Bill must be saving his thunder for the 
legislature. We expect the law-makers will have to 
go some this winter. 


Street Is All Right 

Ever walk along Bedford street on a soft day? 
I have, and the footin’s fierce. Almost everybody 
walks in the street. Anyone would naturally think 
that better walks ought to be provided for humans 
than for horses. 


I’d Look Fine on a Sled 

A kid friend of mine invited me to go geebuckin’ 
with him the other day and I was almost tempted to 
accept the invitation. I’m going out some day and 
take a crack at that sport. It’s almost as exciting as 
committing murder. 


Page 56 


Learning to Fish 

I have become a regular, real, dyed-in-the-wool 
fisherman. Thanks to a couple of friends of mine 
who took me in hand and endeavored to teach me the 
secrets of catching brook trout, I can now look wise 
and say: “Sure I can whip a stream. ,, The thing is 
all so simple that Fm going to give the readers of the 
Mill Waste column the benefit of my experience. 

In the first place, all you need to do is to get out 
of bed about three or four o’clock in the morning and 
put on any clothing that you don’t care for and grab 
a hasty breakfast. Pack your basket full of sand- 
wiches, get a firm grip on your pole, and start out. 
Now comes the most mortifying part of the whole 
proceedings. Everyone you meet, including stray 
policemen, seem to take the keenest delight in handing 
you all kinds of jibes as to what you resemble, what 
you won’t catch and where to leave the trout for them, 
and also not forgetting to put in several words of 
sympathy for the poor little fish. 

After running the gauntlet of near comedians, 
you get a good start on your journey, and take it from 
me the two experiences I have had certainly proved 
that in going trout fishing you are going on a long, 
long journey. The first trip took me up a little 
beyond Suncook on the west side of the river, and 
you will notice that the B. & M. has not as yet com- 
pleted the loop from here to Concord. 

Mind you, I had, all the way along, believed 
that my friend (?) was telling the truth when he said 
he knew where there “was” some fish. The next time 
he’ll tell me where there “is” some before I’ll take 
another 20-mile tramp through the sun, especially 
on Sunday, and make me lose a good mark at church. 

Pag a 57 


If that long-legged, lean, lantern-jawed Luce 
ever gets me on one of his practice marches again 
he’ll be shorter than he is today. Munsey says that 
he has quit cold and won’t take another chance either. 

Along about 10.30 in the forenoon we arrived at 
the brook. Now, instead of the expected instructions 
from my elongated professor, he coldly told me to 
start in “there,” for he was going above the saw 
mill. I started down the brook, dropping my hook 
into the water whenever I could get an opening. What 
did Luce teach me about it? Nothing. What do I 
think Luce knows about it? Nothing. What did we 
all three catch? Nothing. But I had the time of my 
life, just the same. 

With one hand holding the pole, and the other 
hand fighting mosquitoes and flies, with a slap in the 
face every few minutes from a husky bush, and falling 
and slipping around through the woods — Gee! I had 
a swell time. I got sore when I fell in the brook. 
I’m glad there wasn’t anyone to see me pull off that 
stunt, but what I have since learned makes me believe 
that I queered fishing in that brook for some time. 
Luce is one big piece of cheese when it comes to 
fishing. I’ll bet his limit is catching smelts with a big 
net. 

But in a few days I got what my system craved 
for, and that was a real brook trout education from 
my really and truly friend, “Slip” Brassell. He is the 
fellow who made me the great fisherman I am today. 
He taught me how to do the gum shoe act and sneak 
up on the brook when it wasn’t looking. He pointed 
out the places where trout abound (and I guess they 
are still abounding.) He is the hero who took me on 
his back and rode me across the widest part of the 


Page 58 


brook. He had on boots and I didn’t. I’d like a 
picture of that scene. 

He taught me how to cross a meadow twelve 
inches deep with mud and how to bite a sandwich 
without inhaling a stomach full of flies and ’skeeters. 
He showed the solid places to jump to that turned 
out to be 18 inches of rich, black mud. He showed me 
every foot of Litchfield and Hudson, that is, where 
it was the most difficult to navigate, and if there is any 
bush in that country that isn’t adorned with a piece 
of my hide, I’ll cut it down and bring it home. 

But he really did show me how to catch a trout. 
I worked faithfully all day long, and just as night was 
falling, when I had almost given up hope of success, 
I got a bite. It was a real bite, too. When that 
ten-inch speckled beauty grabbed my hook I nearly 
died from fright. My reel spun like a house afire, 
and when I finally started that fish out of the water I 
thought he was at least a yard long. But I got him 
and yelled with glee. 

Just then the Nashua fire alarm rang out and I 
thought they were going to take the fish away from 
me by force. “Slip”congratulated me on my prowess 
and when we finally reached the car line the motor- 
man had to run slow to get by my chest, it was so 
extended. I reached home without completely burst- 
ing, and am more than glad that I am a real trout 
fisherman. 

Standing All Alone 

Did you ever see a painter with a clean uniform 
on? Make a practice of looking them over and see 
how often you find one. 


Page 59 



Page 60 


Perley Smith and the German Carp 


A Fish Story 

Perley Smith has got his picture in the Bulletin. 
If Perley wasn’t such a good natured cuss and always 
on the lookout for a joke on the other fellow perhaps 
this would never have happened. I call it a pretty 
fair likeness. The idea of the picture originated 
during the recent advent into the canal of a span of 
German carp who took up a two or three days resi- 
dence at the outlet of the hot water waste pipe running 
into the canal in front of the southern division boiler 
house. 

I don’t believe anything could have dragged him 
away from the canal (except his meals) not even if a 
line of shafting fell. Perley worked more faithfully 
trying to snare those poor carp than he ever did since 
he built all the cotton mills in the south. There is a 
peculiar thing about that picture. You will notice 
that Rob Leggett is standing directly behind one of 
the fence posts with a large net in his hand. The 
reason he is keeping out of sight is because he and 
Perley had an argument as to the proper way of 
catching the fish. 

Smith was certain they should be snared and Rob 
was equally certain they should be scooped up with 
a net. They both made unsuccessful attempts to 
land their prey and then others butted into the 
controversy. Con. Healey, the watchman, suggested 
baiting the hook with a nickle’s worth of strawberry 
ice cream. Phil Provencher wanted to dive in with a 
meal sack when the fish were taking a nap, but he 
couldn’t find any one around the yard who had been 
given the sack. 

John Toby said that a hook baited with a shovel- 
ful of red hot coals, out of the boiler room, would do 

Page 61 


the trick if he could find the hole in the canal where 
the fish entered. Just then Harold Smith hove in 
sight and Perley Smith (they are no relation, they 
only work for each other) handed his pole with the 
snare on it to John Sullivan and went to meet the 
other Smith. 

Perley told him that he just happened along and 
noticed the fish and inquired if the young Mr. Smith 
had seen the new arrivals. Harold and Perley joined 
the bunch on the bridge and Sullivan handed over the 
pole to Perley and said “Here’s your pole. If I’d 
been holding onto that thing all day the way you have 
I’d have blisters on me forud.” 

The fish are still enjoying the freedom of the 
canal, or river, and all the wise fishermen of the 
southern division got a great “Pooh” from the people 
to whom they had been telling fish stories. 


They’ll Get Him Yet 

From several items sent to the Bulletin I learn 
that my old side pardner G. Nickolass Manning has 
been to the beach. Nick was always strong for the 
beach and mountain stuff, although he sometimes 
strays down towards Nova Scotia. He always digs 
up a good time wherever he goes, and never fails to 
land a widow. 

I suppose when I see him again he’ll have a cute 
story to tell about the “best one” ever. They always 
are the best ever, Nick, and I wish you luck. I don’t 
wish you any hard luck, but I hope that soon one of 
them will get you and nail you to the everlasting 
cross. You deserve to wear the yoke of married bliss 
if any one person does. 

Page 62 


Doesn’t Know the Ropes 

The Manchester correspondent of the Boston 
Post certainly did put over a hot one in his report 
of the shafting which fell in the worsted twisting 
room. He wrote that 30 feet of “wooden shafting” 
fell from the ceiling to the floor with a crash. 

The company has in use thousands of feet of 
shafting, but it has not been deemed practical to use 
wood as a means of propelling the many machines. 
Another paper stated that persons were hit by flying 
shuttles. I think someone ought to get stories first 
hand and then they won’t be misled into furnish- 
ing copy that shows up their ignorance of other 
people’s pursuits. 


Let the Good Work Go On 

I hope, now that the Amoskeag Company is 
fixing up the sheds in the back street between West 
Merrimack and Pleasant streets, that the people who 
have been in the habit of heaving all kinds of rubbish 
and papers out the back doors, will use a little care 
and try and make the place more attractive. 

It certainly would be a charitable piece of work 
if the roadway of that back street was put in a little 
better condition. I expect before many weeks the 
wind will have the whole business moved up to 
Franklin street. 


Not a Ghost of a Chance 

I can’t find anyone who says that Ralph Page’s 
hair stood up on end when that shafting fell. 


Page 63 


Need a Good Kicking 

I have had occasion to walk up Canal street a 
number of times lately, and on each occasion I have 
seen fellows in the mill along the canal throw up the 
windows and yell at women or girls who happened 
to be passing. To the credit of those females who 
have been obliged to stand the stuff that was handed 
them, I wish to say that not one did I see who paid 
any attention. When an operative of the mills is 
leaning out of the window carrying on his occupation 
of hurling insulting remarks at passers by, I think 
a heavily laden boot with some force behind it would 
be an effectual cure for any future repetition of the act. 


No Occasion to Doubt 

That fishing trip into the frozen north, indulged 
in by Perley Smith and Walt Ingalls has caused a 
heap of talk among the workers in the southern 
division repair shop. Walt has finally loosened up 
to the effect that his pardner did catch a fish and it 
was so big that when Perley pulled it out, the water 
in the lake dropped sixteen-sixteenths of an inch. 
No one doubts Walt’s veracity, because he is known 
to be an expert with a foot rule. 


Tim Caught On 

This is the week that ‘‘Smiling” Tim Sullivan 
and his chaperone, Ed Heath, visit the southern 
division. Tim always shows up now with his coat 
buttoned snugly and with a bright shine on his head 
and shoes. 


Page 64 


He Lost Money 

Bill Parkhurst, of the southern division electrical 
department, decided to remove his household goods 
to a different locality and when he found that the 
Truckmen’s Trust insisted that he should pay five 
dollars for moving his piano and another five for the 
rest of the furniture he hit on a bright scheme. 

Bill paid five hard earned dollars for having the 
piano moved and said he would tend to the rest. He 
borrowed a wheelbarrow and done the moving himself. 
He saved five dollars, but has been obliged to lose a 
week’s work and pay double the amount for his 
doctor’s bill and medicine. 


Will Know Better Next Time 

If there is anyone who is contemplating the 
purchase of an automobile as a surprise for his wife, 
he’d better cut out the surprise part of it and first 
ask her if she wants one. Arthur Ward pulled the 
surprise stunt on his better half very lately and now 
which is a brand-new-second-hand car for sale. 

Arthur will be very glad to explain the circum- 
stances and also tell the good points of the machine, 
that is on the market to the highest bidder. That is, 
he’ll tell as much as his limited acquaintance with the 
darned thing will allow. 


Must Have Some Reason 

They tell me Jim Cassily is studying Esperanto. 
I wonder what he has got up his sleeve. 


Page 65 


No Cause for Fear 


Arthur Kennedy, commonly called “Jake,” of 
the manufacturing office, certainly has a humane 
heart. The other day a shifter was hauling a couple 
of freight cars down from the locomotive works to 
the freight yard on the north bound track, when the 
4.29 passenger train for Boston came tearing down on 
the south bound track as it should. Of course, both 
trains going in the same direction made things look a 
bit queer for one so unaccustomed to railroading as 
our friend Jake is. With a cry of terror he leaped from 
his chair to the window, his face as white as a 
sheet. He gripped the window casing and held his 
breath awaiting the crash. However, he didn’t have 
to wait long, for the passenger train shot by the 
shifter without a bit of trouble and everyone began 
to smile. When Jake saw just how it was done, he 
heaved a deep sigh and said: “Gee, I thought they 
were on the same track.” 


They Are on the Job 

A recent issue of a trade journal tells how its 
photographer “caught a leading superintendent at 
his desk,” then gives up two valuable columns to the 
semi-life-sized portrait and the story of his sweet 
young life. The interesting thing to me is the fact that 
he was “caught at his desk.” We have some “leading 
superintendents” at the Amoskeag, but they can sel- 
dom be caught at their desks, even with a bear-trap. 
They are always hustling around the mills and stop 
only long enough to catch their own breath, much less, 
be caught by a photographer. 


Page 66 


Trimmed the Champs 

I had been given to understand that Frank 
Clarke and John Kendall were champion whist 
players, in fact, it is said that they have boasted of 
their superior skill. I guess they thought, when they 
beat their wives (now I don’t mean that they punched 
and hit the ladies with baseball bats) that they were 
the hummin’ stuff, but the poor exhibition I saw them 
put over, on the train to Boston, with the Textile 
Club, makes me think that they are not even near 
champs. Doc Bartlett and Clint Dow had them 
gasping for breath and the excuses they handed out 
nearly made the brakeman heave out the anchor. 


Grew Up Wrong 

If Frank Vose, chairman of the agricultural 
committee, knew of the ability of one of the clerks 
in the perching room he would certainly want to en- 
gage her for the season, eh, Mary Powers? When a 
young lady can plant a few nasturtium seeds and 
raise a fine crop of beets, she should be able to assist 
the agricultural committee to a great extent. 


Pleasures of Motor-Cycling 

Sam Laflamme is having a hard time now coaxing 
anyone to ride behind him on his motor cycle. After 
two bad spills Clyde Luce says he had plenty and 
caught a car home, leaving Sam by the roadside 
making repairs. Sam’s excuse is that Luce always 
jumped off too quick and made him lose control of 
the machine. 


Page 67 


Several Ways to Fix It 

Dear Bill : — They tell me that for some time past, 
on those red-letter Wednesdays, when the ghost 
walks in No. 11 mill, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
Keeper of Wampum, Dealer of Long Green, or what- 
ever may be his title, Ed Heath, has been making 
life a burden for everybody by complaining of the 
height, or, rather, the lowth, of his pay-truck, and, 
in consequence, Genie Worthen, being the most 
tender-hearted man of affairs in that mill, volunteered 
to have a new table made and charged to his depart- 
ment. In course of time, it arrived, but, upon being 
put into commission, was found to be two inches too 
high. Genie promptly approached the head of 
another department and suggested that the table 
be charged to that department and he order a new one. 

Now Bill, what I want is your opinion. It seems 
to me, as the ends of the legs cannot be cut off without 
spoiling their beauty, that two inches could be cut 
from the middle of them, which would serve the 
purpose. Or the top, which is about two inches thick, 
might be left off, bringing the table to the correct 
height. Better yet, the floors of No. 11 mill could 
be lowered two inches. This last plan appeals to me, 
in that it would give Perry Dow a good job, as his 
work at Textile Field is nearly completed and he 
is in a fair way to be laid off presently. Something 
must be done at once about this table, and I think 
you might block out a plan, as you and your assistant 
are supposed to have splendid blockheads. 

NEWTON NEWKICK. 

Dear Newt: — It seems to me that you have 
asked me a question and then answered it in several 


Page 68 


different ways yourself. The only way out of the 
difficulty that I can bring to mind now would be to 
allow the poor table to remain as it is and let Ed. 
Heath have some two-inch taps added to his little 
booties. 

BILL. 


Why Not Covered Cans? 

What a corking lot of good might be the result 
if the Amoskeag company would hit upon some scheme 
for covered garbage cans for the corporation back 
streets. We hear so much of the “swat the fly ,, cry 
that it seems that a little thing like furnishing covered 
garbage cans would go a great ways towards elimi- 
nating these germ carriers. 

Then, again, some of the people could just as well 
burn some of the stuff, instead of allowing it to go to 
decay at their back doors and causing unhealthy 
smells to assail the nostrils of their neighbors. 


Lost His Bride 

Maurice Michelson, of the printing office, recently 
returned to Manchester after a two weeks’ honeymoon 
in and around Boston. His bride (she came back 
with him,) was Miss Nellie McCusker of Charlestown, 
and is a fine little lady, but she got lost in one of the 
local five and ten cent stores. 

Her husband chased around wild-eyed for some 
time, finally locating her at the counter where were 
displayed some cooking utensils. I wonder if she 
insisted upon having mahogany dishes. 


Page 69 



Page 70 


A Mill Phrase, “A Mule Spinner” 


Couldn’t Find the Ball Game 


Patrick A. Ryan, of the worsted dye house, who 
went to Boston with the Textile Club, now explains, 
somewhat reluctantly, why he didn’t see the ball 
game. Pat says that he boarded a subway car at the 
North station and got off at Park street. Thinking 
that the ball grounds must be in the vicinity, he went 
up to the surface and found himself in the Common. 
He had never been there before, so he thought from 
the looks of the place that he must surely be near 
his destination. 

He walked around the Common for a couple of 
hours but couldn’t locate Fenway Park, and keeping 
in mind the stories he had been told of the sharks that 
hang around Boston waiting to rob innocent strangers 
from the country, he did not dare to ask anybody, 
but finally returned to the subway and caught a car 
to the North station and there he remained until the 
other excursionists began to show up from the theatres, 
along about 11 o’clock, p. m. Paddy says he surely 
was glad when the first familiar faces met his gaze 
that night. 


The Kids Are Lucky- 

Last Friday, at noon, when it was mighty hot 
everywhere one went, I stopped for a few minutes 
and watched the kiddies having the time of their 
lives in the wading pool at the Amoskeag playground. 
Did I wish I could jump in and roll around in the 
water? Sure I did, and I want to say that I did envy 
that bunch of kids. 


Page 71 


The Cabbage Disappeared 

While many people who reside on the corporation 
are brightening up their back yards, there are others 
of course, who pay more attention to the front. 
Rob Leggett is one of the latter. The principal reason 
he works harder in the front yard than he does in the 
back yard is because he hasn’t any back yard to work 
in. But he certainly has a pretty front yard. He 
has spent many hours planting and transplanting 
flowers, trimming the lawn and keeping everything 
in a state of dampness that would defy the sun’s 
hottest rays. The yard certainly is one to be proud of. 

Rob also boasts of a garden of no small propor- 
tions, over in ’Squog, and the other day he brought 
home from there a lovely, large cabbage plant and 
placed it among the flowers in the front yard. He 
gave it every attention and watered and cared for it 
in a manner that would make a fond mother jealous. 
Then something awful happened. Some mean cuss 
swiped the cabbage! Rob ripped and raved. He 
accused everyone in the neighborhood of being guilty 
of kidnapping his cabbage. He has grown silent and 
morose, and I’m mighty glad I never have seen his 
cabbage. When a man mutters, look out for him. 
Woe be to him who stole that cabbage, if Rob finds out. 


Here’s a Knock 

Overseer Eastman of No. 9 mill says he is glad to 
be a part of this great machine, if only a little bolt. 
There are times, Charlie, when it is necessary to hit 
a bolt on the head with a hammer. 


Page 72 


Knowing How to Work It 

About the niftiest piece of work that I have seen 
for some time is a stunt put over by Tip Parker and 
Bill Burlingame. The best fishermen and the mightiest 
hunters in the whole Amoskeag corporation take off 
their lids to this pair of nimrods when it comes to real 
hunting and fishing. Without doubt there is no man 
in the city who can show anywhere near as much 
knowledge and experience along these lines of sport 
that Tip and Bill can. They are, indeed, true sports- 
men, and they delight in the pastime. 

One feature that has always (until recently) 
been a burden and a drawback to the many trips they 
have taken is the fact that each time they have been 
obliged to do a whole lot of walking. Now, I don’t 
pretend to assert that the new stunt they have worked 
was premeditated, with malice aforethought, but at 
the same time it looks on the surface as if the matter 
was thoroughly worked out in advance. Nevertheless, 
the fact remains that, having no automobile of their 
own, they cast about for some likely auto-owner who 
could be persuaded into becoming an enthusiastic 
trout fisherman. 

The story goes that they tried to influence several 
of their acquaintances, but to no avail. Even the 
persuasive arguments of that energetic statesman, 
Representative Burlingame, failed to land the good 
Samaritan, until a happy thought sent them against 
Herman Thompson. Now, one would naturally think 
that two grown-ups would tackle a bigger man than 
Herman. He was caught, the results far outreaching 
their fondest hopes. He fell for their line of talk, and 
has become so devoted to the sport of trout fishing 
that he can hardly wait until six o’clock comes, when 


Page 73 


he can crank up his machine and hustle his two friends 
off to some favorite brook for an hour or two of fishing. 

Saturdays and Sundays, instead of the long, cool 
rides that were one time his great delight, Herman 
now rides as far as the trout brook and spends the 
time fishing. The women folks sometimes are invited 
to accompany the fishermen on their trips and have 
a most enjoyable time sitting in the machine at the 
side of the road, fighting the pesky mosquitoes and 
wishing the men would hurry up. 

This story is written, not with any intention 
to queer the slick game that the two versatile gentle- 
men have worked, but to point out to those who are 
not lucky enough to possess an auto that there are 
many ways in which a person may derive all the 
benefits of a machine without the expense of owning 
a car himself. 

She Explained All Right 

Jim Forrest, who looks after the “kiddies” in the 
children's playground, tells about a little Italian girl 
who approached him and complained that a boy had 
slapped her. 

Jim asked the dark-hued little miss which boy 
it was, and, pointing to a red-headed urchin, she said, 
“Thata heem. He gotta red hair on toppa face.” 

A Good Job Completed 

Employees of the southern division who use the 
entrance to the filter building are much pleased 
because a hood has been placed over the doorway. 
They all say: “Now let 'er rain.” 


Page 74 


A Couple of City Reubens 

Doesn’t it beat the band that two real city men, 
whose business it is to travel from one end of the 
country to the other, always priding themselves upon 
the fact that they never get into mixups regarding 
trains, and are always Johnny-on-the-spot when it 
comes to making quick jumps, should come up into 
the woods of New Hampshire and prove to us that 
there are as big reubens and boobs come out of New 
York as there are that go into the wicked city? I 
don’t like to do this, but it seems to good to keep. 

Recently, H. A. Miles and L. V. Giles, a couple 
of salesmen connected with the New York office of 
the Amoskeag, came to Manchester to look around 
the mills. They were shown every courtesy and given 
the freedom of the city. Nothing was too good for 
the visitors, the Derryfield club being thrown open to 
them, and everything possible was done to make them 
feel that New Hampshire hospitality is all that is 
claimed for it. Train time finally came and they 
were taken to the station in the Company’s taxi-cab. 

They wanted to take the 4.20 train to Boston 
for they had a dinner engagement with particular 
friends. The Portsmouth train pulled in from Concord 
and these wise gentlemen, disdaining any such hayseed 
action as asking if it was the right choo choo car, 
confidently packed themselves in, and when they 
became wised up to where they were going, imme- 
diately began writing telegrams. The conductor 
told them they could get off at Rockingham Junction, 
and get a train there for Boston. 

In the meantime, the highwayman of a brakeman, 
to whom they had given the telegrams and money, 
must have sized them up for a couple of “almosts,” 

Page 75 


for he pocketed the money and threw the telegrams 
away. At least, they were never received by the 
people to whom they were addressed. 

The pair of city fellows arrived in Boston about 
nine o’clock that night, disgusted with everything in 
general and the B. & M. in particular. They blamed 
everyone and everything for the way they had been 
flim-flammed, forgetting that they were personally 
responsible for their own actions. 


You Can See for Yourself 

To a few gentlemen who are not in sympathy with 
the work carried on by the Amoskeag Textile club, 
is given an urgent invitation to pay the Boy Scout 
camp a visit. If they are of a character broad-minded 
enough to recognize good when it is being done, they 
will give credit where it is due and sing praises for 
the proof of untiring work as will be seen when they 
look into the happy faces of more than a score of boys 
who are enjoying themselves in a grand way, made 
possible by the action of the club. 


Perhaps He Had a Hunch 

'I understand that Mel Scarlett has bought a lot 
of land over in East Manchester. Nearly all of Mel’s 
friends are aware of the particular aversion he has 
always had in regard to putting his money into any- 
thing but a savings bank and the said friends are 
wondering now if he discovered a gold mine on the 
land before he parted with his mazuma. 


Page 76 


Old Gag No Good Now 

William Buckley has finished painting his barn. 
This item of news will probably be of no interest to 
the majority of Bulletin readers, but to friends of 
Billy Buckley in the Coolidge mill it will mean a great 
deal. Now, Billy is some painter, but — like other 
Bills — he wants plenty of time. Actual records prove 
that he has taken just seven years in painting this 
ordinary sized barn. 

If he loafed a day it was to paint the barn; if 
the boys wanted him to go on a trip his excuse for not 
going was ever and always, “Sorry, but I’ve got to 
paint my barn.” But it’s all over now — the job is 
finished, and the boys are thinking of taking him 
over to the ball game Saturday. The old gag worked 
for a long time, Bill, but I guess you will have to 
invent a new one hereafter. 


A Black -Faced Piano 

A vaudeville turn at the Auditorium last week 
was billed as a “Blackfaced Piano and Singing Act.” 
I am wondering what firm is building that kind of 
piano. Does the piano put on its own burnt cork? 
Perhaps that’s what the drummer has to do when he 
slips down under the stage. 


For Which I Thank You 

Some one asked a party over in the Coolidge mill 
the other day if he knew Bill McKay. He replied, 
“Yes, he’s the guy who puts the ‘bull’ in the Bulletin.” 
Some fresh fellow, eh? 


Page 77 


Neil Is a Jumper 

Material for the Mill Waste column comes 
mighty hard at times, but it will crop out nevertheless, 
in spots where it is least expected to hibernate. I 
just happened to touch Neil Loynachan recently 
and the way he went into the air would make some 
of Perry Dow’s jumpers look like pikers. If you want 
to see a real live one just touch Neil up once and you 
will witness a series of double flip-flaps and Canada 
twisters that will do your heart good. 


Larger Swimming Pool Needed 

It seems to me that the basin of water in the 
children’s playground, which was built as a wading 
pool, should be changed next year so that the young 
folks can better use it for what they try to accomplish 
— swimming. To be sure they have a fine time as it 
is, but they do try awfully hard to learn to swim in 
the shallow water, and it is hardly deep enough or 
big enough to get good results. 

Serves Him Just Right 

A pair of pink and white pajamas disappeared 
from Scoutmaster Loynachan’s tent during the week 
the “other sex” occupied the Boy Scout camp. He 
says he left his bed and other useful articles for the 
girls to use, but feels that an injustice was done him 
in making away with his “jammers.” 

Now I don’t think he can expect sympathy from 
any strong man. A gink who will wear pink and white 
pajamas should have them stolen, and worse than that. 


Page 78 


Looking Forward to Winter 

A small army of youngsters, both boys and girls, 
are busy getting in their parents’ winter supply of 
fuel. Every morning, early, they show up just as 
regular as the whistles blow and begin pulling over the 
ashes near the southern division boiler house. 

They are eagerly at work hunting for the many 
pieces of coal which the fires have failed to destroy. 
Some of the little wagons they use for transportation 
are indeed a work of art, showing that the material 
for construction was picked up in many places. 


Proof of His Prowess 

Dr. John H. Gleason has a beautiful summer 
home on the shores of Lake Sunapee where he goes to 
spend his week-ends, indulging to a great extent in 
fishing. He believes that pictures tell a better story 
of a catch, a more believable story than a person can 
by word of mouth, and he is exhibiting some “camera 
tales” that prove his prowess. He showed me the 
picture of a mess of bass and trout that he and John 
Jr. hooked that would make any would-be fisherman 
turn green with envy. 


He Deceived Her 

A man and a pretty young weaver, 

She never thought he’d deceive her, 

But another young girl, 

Who, for a living did burl, 

Appeared on the scene with a slit skirt serene, 
And I’m a son of a gun if he’d leave her. 


Page 79 



When the Women Folks Held a Rubber Sale 


You Can Believe It or Not 


There are men who can get away with horrible 
yarns about fish, and the different stories in the 
Bulletin from time to time have kind of gone to the 
heads of some. Emil Berglund pulled a beaut the 
other day. He says that when he was a boy he knew 
of a brook where 25-pound fish were in such vast 
numbers that it was impossible for one of them to 
to turn around to see who was tramping on his heels. 
I didn’t take much stock in it and Jimmy Cassily and 
I have our own opinion of Emil as a teller of fish stories. 


Crop Doing Fine 

Herb Sails says that his crop of shuttles is thriving 
immensely. The dry season this summer has been 
very beneficial, each shuttle now being perfectly 
formed. He took down the sample, which was sus- 
pended from a pole in the middle of the patch, about 
ten days ago, because all danger of warping is now 
past. 


Doc. Bartlett Can Climb 

Second-story workers don’t get very fat in 
Manchester, owing to the fact that Chief Healy and 
his boys in blue are right on their jobs, but they’ve 
overlooked the one best bet. Doc. Bartlett is past 
master at the game and after what I have seen I shall 
lock even the attic windows when I hit the hay. Ask 
him about it. 


Page 81 


The Question of Covered Cans 

Many employees of the Amoskeag Company, 
who live in the corporation tenements, have con- 
gratulated me on the recent little article in the Mill 
Waste column regarding the garbage tubs that are 
in the back streets. The suggestion that these tubs be 
replaced with metal cans of some sort that could be 
covered, met with hearty approval, and a number of 
people have asked me to mention it again. 

Now, I do not think it is necessary to “keep at 
’em” when it is a question of having some improve- 
ment made in conditions that will benefit the em- 
ployees of the company, but sometimes, perhaps, 
the right man might overlook the first item and then 
see the second one. I do not intend to bring up, in 
this column anything of an unreasonable character, 
but I think that if the employees use the columns of 
the Bulletin regarding matters of this kind, they will 
find that it will bring good results. It has in several 
cases already. 

Coming back to the matter of new garbage cans, 
a little inquiry has elicited the information that the 
cost of covered galvanized iron cans would be very 
normal, and here’s hoping that the right man will read 
this article. 


Roughing It 

Frank Clarke, chairman of the Boy Scout 
committee of the Amoskeag Textile Club, invited me 
over to the Scout camp the other night to look the 
place over and have supper at his expense. If there 
is anything in this world I like to do, it’s to have a 


Page 82 


good feed on somebody else. I told him I would be 
very glad to accept his kind invitation, and he drove 
around for me in his devil wagon and we whizzed over 
to the Recreation Grounds. 

There was a short wait before the fodder was 
served, and Frank stretched himself happily and 
commenced to disrobe. He has a tent all his own, 
marked “Supt’s Tent.” He lazily remarked that it 
was great to “rough it like this.” He also allowed 
that a man could go around without any collar on — 
even leave his shirt open at the neck. I kind of 
envied him the fine opportunity he had of putting 
these statements into practical use; but after he had 
decked himself out in his “rough” clothes I nearly 
fell through the floor in the tent. 

You talk about your Rah Rah boys! He had 
anything I’ve ever seen in that line lashed to the mast 
and gasping for atmosphere. He was one swell kid. 
Picture, if you can, His Royal Highness decked out 
in white tennis shoes, trousers of a light slate shade, 
and a gray shirtie with one nice red necktie. He didn’t 
have anything on top of his head — not even hair. 

But if that’s what he calls roughing it — smotherin’ 
embers, I’d rather be a common floorwalker in Jimmy 
Hill’s lingerie shop. Believe muh! Frank even had a 
spring bed installed instead of a cot like the rest of 
the campers are using. 


Not What You Thought 

The boy stood on the railroad track, 
The train was coming fast. 

The boy stepped off the railroad track 
And let the train go past. 


Page 83 


A Hering Caught a Fish 

John Hering, overseer in the Coolidge north 
lower weave room, states that, while fishing the ’Squog 
river a few days ago, he caught a German carp which 
weighed fifteen pounds. No sooner had John caught 
the fish than the news began to spread and his friends 
in the Turner band were notified to assemble in North 
Main street, and when Johnnie came marching home 
they began to play the “Fisher’s Hornpipe.” Some 
doubt John’s story as to the size of the fish. Who 
ever heard of a Hering going fishing? 


Should Tear the Buildings Down 

My friend John Mitchell, (that is, he was my 
friend at one time, before he commenced keeping 
steady company) recently made a trip to the great 
metropolis. John had never been in New York before 
and was much enthused over the bigness of every- 
thing. He thought his home town, Brunswick, 
Maine, was a big place, but now he allows that New 
York has a few things that Brunswick has not. 

“One thing about New York I don’t like,” says 
John, “is that there are so many buildings you can’t 
see the city.” 


A Regular Spendthrift 

James Grady is getting to be a real generous 
sport at ball games. At one of the recent games he 
purchased eight boxes of cracker jack and it goes 
without saying that they were not all for himself — 
eh Jimmie? 


Page 84 


Keeping a Secret 

Everett Gleason, second hand in Overseer Dean’s 
weave room, isn’t saying much about the trip he took 
to Portland two or three weeks ago. He got married 
and was mean enough about it to want to keep it to 
himself. Of course his wife was wise to the fact, but 
here’s hoping a lot of people will read this. 


Boy Gardeners Happy 

When the boys are on their way home from the 
Textile Club gardens, their arms loaded with lettuce 
and radishes, they pass by you with a grin on their 
healthy young faces that cannot but help make you 
wish you were a boy again. You are doing fine, boys, 
and here’s hoping you will all win a prize. 


Look Out for Toadstools 

I understand that Billy Riley, caretaker at the 
Amoskeag Recreation Grounds, is putting in his spare 
time raising mushrooms. There’s more profit at 
that game than there is in looking after Peter Gunder- 
man’s shiner pond. 


No Harm Meant 

There’s a bird in the zoo called a Pelican, 
Whose mouth holds more than his Belican. 
He can keep in his beak 
Enough food for a week, 

But I don’t see how in the Helican. 


Page 85 


Something Will Happen 

You can bet your life it was pretty tough roots 
to lose that game to the Stark mills team last Satur- 
day. But I knew at noon that the Amoskeag boys 
were beaten. How did I know? Because my better- 
half declared she was going to see the game. Just as 
soon as she made that crack I knew it was a case of 
good night nurse. 

Of all the pure, unadulterated, dyed-in-the-wool 
Jonahs, she is the queen, high up on the throne. 
She’s a great fan though, been to every game last 
year and this season that the Amoskeag team has 
lost. Never saw them win once. I don’t want to do 
anything I ought not to, but take it from me, that 
Jinx has got to be dealt with, and soon, too. 


Get Ready for Fish Stories 

Mel Davis, second hand for Pat O’Malley, has 
hired a cottage on Lake Waukewan, in Meredith, for 
two weeks during the shut-down. Mel says nearly 
everything is up-to-date, but he will have to walk too 
far to get water to drink. 

That is kind of hard on Mel, because he likes 
water so well. But he says it is fine fishing up there. 
The Coolidge will be a great place for fish stories when 
Mel gets back after the shut-down. 


He’s Used to It 

Bill Swallow never peeped when a gentleman 
addressed him as “Mr. Sparrow,” not long ago. 


Page 86 


How to Eat Corn 


Dear Bill: — I am going to accept an invitation 
to a party where the chief article of food will be green 
corn and I wish you would tell me, in your valuable 
column, the proper way to eat it — the corn, not the 
column. 

CORNFED. 

My dear Cornfed: — Your request, while peculiar, 
is really in season, and if you will follow me closely 
you can gain a few points from this correspondence 
course. The corn course, you say, is the chief article 
on the bill of fare. That is as it should be, for when 
a man eats corn he should make a business of it and 
not pay any attention to other things. 

Before you start in to eat be sure you are provided 
with one knife, one pound butter, one full saucer of 
salt, one trough, one pair overalls, one jumper, two 
dozen red bandanna handkerchiefs, a half-dozen sweet 
potatoes and two dozen ears of corn. The corn is 
better when you have sweet potatoes to keep it 
company. 

Now select your ear of corn. Hold it firmly in 
the left hand and apply butter thickly. Pick up a 
handful of salt and let it drip through the fingers upon 
the corn. N ow then, the corn being properly prepared, 
grasp the other end of the corn with your right hand 
and go to it. 

Never nibble at three or four rows of kernels, 
but insert your teeth in the top and bottom and in 
bringing them together immediately, slide the corn 
along toward the west a few notches. You must 
start in slowly and as your jaws get the right motion 
you can go faster. This action in separating the 


Page 87 


corn from the cob also serves to give it all necessary 
mastication and you will not lose time chewing it. Just 
let it naturally trickle down your throat. 

When you have eaten all you can — nobody has 
ever eaten all he wanted — you will agree with me that 
overalls, etc., were the proper articles of dress. In 
about fifteen minutes send in a hurry call for the 
ambulance. 

BILL. 


But the Team Lost 

Some of the girls who rode in the auto trucks, 
last Saturday, were so anxious to get aboard that they 
could not wait for the step-ladder, and as the distance 
was great and most of the skirts were skimpy — well, 
there was a big crowd at Textile Field, and if we did 
lose, the threatened thunder shower failed to stop the 
game. 


Strenuous Work 

Arthur Gleason says his “little boy” Everett 
lost four pounds climbing Monadnock mountain. 
Guess I’ll hit that idea as a training stunt. I rather 
think, though, that I would prefer doing it by a 
correspondence course. 


Pretty Soft Camping 

Frank Clarke added an electric fan to his tent 
equipment over in the Boy Scout Camp. Him 
roughing it, too! Well, I will be horn swoggled! 


Page 88 


Here Is a Chance to Help 

Any of the readers of the Mill Waste column 
whose particular taste runs toward game birds would 
do well to cultivate a close friendship with Frank Cole 
and Ed. Clark of the machine shop. These Textile 
club members are certainly ardent sportsmen and plan 
to make a number of trips this fall in their new Stanley 
cars, when it is expected that they will create great 
havoc among the partridge, woodcock, etc. 

The Stanley machines they have just purchased 
need quite a bit more equipment than they have at 
present, and, as the cars were expensive, a few gifts 
would be much appreciated. Anyone who has any 
cast-off supplies, would do well to send them to Frank 
or Ed. and who knows but in return they might 
receive a fine, plump partridge, or — an English 
sparrow. 


Employees Should Help 

The Amoskeag Company takes great pride in the 
appearance of the mill yard, and employs many men 
whose duty it is to go about and pick up pieces of 
paper and other rubbish. The employees of the 
company should co-operate along this line and do 
their share toward helping out in the matter, instead 
of thoughtlessly throwing things from the windows. 

Baskets and other receptacles provided through- 
out the mills should be used, and those men who are 
in charge of the different departments should make it 
a point to see that the rule against throwing waste 
material from the windows is obeyed. 


Page 89 


A Regular Bunco Game 

Dear Bill: — I have turned inventor. I have just 
invented a new kind of glass, or rather an idea for a 
new kind. My kind is like this: You see it hit me 
as a good thing to have window glass that you could 
see through just one way. You will readily see the 
advantage of my invention, as with this glass in a 
window, you could look out and nobody could look 
in, thus doing away with the expense and necessity 
of shades. 

I am going to issue some treasury stock, and I 
hope you will put some money into it. I will be there 
when you put the money in. As a matter of fact 
the stock is all there is in my treasury at present. 
I forgot to state that I have not yet found a way to 
fix the glass so you can see through it only one way. 
If you know how it can be done I wish you would let 
me know about it. 

But I am going to sell the stock first and improve 
the product afterwards. I believe that is the approved 
method. Please let me know if you can show me how, 
and send me a check as soon as possible. 

B. UNCOMAN 

My dear Bunko Man: — Your inventive genius 
should be put to a more practical use than simply 
getting the idea of separating a man from his money. 
There are too many of those ginks already doing 
business. You say you will be there when I put some 
money in. Stay there! It will do you a world of good. 

While you are there I will patent your idea and 
make some money myself. I think the best way to 
make window glass so that people cannot look in 
would be to paint the glass on the outside and leave 


Page 90 


the inside clear. This will stop people looking in, 
but the people on the inside won’t be bothered about 
being able to look out, because the inside of the glass 
will be clean. If they do experience any difficulty in 
lamping the passing of chickens, etc., let them go to 
the door and rubber. 

BILL. 


Dice Phinney Knew 

At a recent banquet tendered to one of Man- 
chester’s best known and highly respected citizens, 
the very tastily arranged menu card displayed among 
the tempting dishes the words “Amoskeag Chicken.” 

Now, I think that Dice Phinney displayed 
mighty fine judgment in coming to the Amoskeag 
for his chickens. There are some corking good-looking 
chickens that work in the mills — broilers that would 
be hard to beat for looks and style. 

Dice has been lamping the different varieties for 
several seasons now, and when it was put up to him 
he knew where to go to get them right. 


Weavers Must Be Clean 

There is a sign in one of the weave rooms which 
states that the bobbin boys are forbidden to take any 
bobbins from the weavers unless they are absolutely 
clean. I suppose that the weavers are obliged to take 
a shower bath before they can transact any business 
with the bobbin boys. Pretty tough on the weavers 
during the recent cold snap. 


Page 91 



Here Are the Two Eds 

Ed. Adams (Poultry Ed.) can talk more poultry 
in ten minutes than ten men can in more hours. He 
is shown in the act of loosening the silver cord from a 
fatted rooster. He belongs to the millwright gang 
and the poultry club. 

Ed. Adams (Stubby) is shown in high gear. The 
two Eddies should not be confounded. 


Page 92 


The Knot-Hole Trade 


Dear Bill: — Somebody wrote an article for the 
Bulletin, some time ago, which was very interesting, 
describing how the waste material throughout the mills 
was disposed of. The one who wrote the article (a very 
creditable article indeed) neglected to state what 
became of the knot-holes that were discarded as the 
vast amount of lumber was used up. Will you please 
tell me, through your Mill Waste column, how the 
company secures and disposes of the great number of 
knot-holes that must accumulate during a year’s time. 

HOLEPROOF. 

Dear Holeproof: — You are a man after my own 
heart. You have got the right idea as to what this 
column is for, and it gives me exquisite pleasure to 
answer you herewith. Of course, you must realize 
that it has been necessary for me to delve into the 
records of the Company, to some extent, searching 
for information which would enable me to give you 
the exact facts. 

I find that in the lumber yard over on the west 
side of the river, when a train load of lumber is to be 
unloaded, a correct count is taken of the number of 
knot-holes contained in the boards. You must 
understand that the lumber is received in its rough 
state and the knot-holes are not in a very finished 
condition. 

The knot-holes that are not good knot-holes are 
separated from the good knot-holes, so that the knot- 
holes that are not holes, that is, the knot-holes that 
have not got holes on account of the knot not having 
ripened enough to fall from the hole, will not get 
mixed up with good knot-holes. 


Page 93 


You can easily see, from the fact that while two 
men are employed noting the knot-holes, only one 
looks after the checking of the lumber. One would 
surmise, and rightly too, that the knot-holes are twice 
the value of the lumber. However, the knot-holes are 
not separated from the cheaper parts of the lumber until 
they reach either the planing mill or the carpenter 
shops. 

In the carpenter shops hundreds of men are 
employed who put in most of their time assorting 
knot-holes. The value of knot-holes, the same as 
business blocks, is determined by the size and quality. 
A large, smooth knot-hole, perfectly formed, can bring 
a good price in the open market, and for this reason 
the shop walls are covered with pegs to hang them on. 
Each size has a different peg. 

A good knot-hole sorter gets as high as nine dollars 
a day. The work is all piece work, but pieces of knot- 
holes are worthless. The greatest demand for knot- 
holes comes from the manufacturers of hogsheads and 
beer barrels. They find use for them as bung-holes. 
The bung-hole trade is very exacting, for every 
knot-hole must be uniform in size. 

The greatest variety, however, are sold to bottle 
makers, who, of course, need many different sizes to 
complete their finished goods. Porous plaster manu- 
facturers have been trying for a long time to corner 
the market on knot-holes, but have been unable to 
accomplish their purpose up to this time. The 
Amoskeag Company uses a great many knot-holes 
in the machine shop, where they are threaded and 
made into nuts for bolts (not pecan and hazel nuts.) 

I am given to understand that Charlie Heselton 
is working upon a machine, a compressor of some sort, 


Page 94 


that is destined to revolutionize the knot-hole trade. 
This machine, if all expectations are realized, will 
make small knot-holes out of large ones, and vice 
versa. On account of the many uses to which knot- 
holes are subjected, it is sometimes necessary that a 
large quantity of the same size are wanted for some 
particular work, and this machine will be found to be 
of great advantage. 

In packing the knot-holes for shipment, great care 
must be taken. They are placed in cases, in partitioned 
receptacles, the same as cold storage eggs. This is 
made necessary to avoid being crushed out of shape. 
Every two weeks a train load of from ten to twenty 
cars of knot-holes is sent out. I hope this explanation 
will be satisfactory. 

BILL. 


Day Is Too Short 

Rob Kiontke has added another string to his 
bow. He has hit upon another scheme to make money. 
That is what he is being given credit for doing. 
He has purchased a near horse. Somebody slipped 
him a bum joke that the horse was threatened with 
speed and having visions of big cleanups with the 
local horsemen, Bob invested and report has it that 
he was stung. 

I don’t care how many horses Bob buys, but 
what I am trying to figure out is, that if he works in 
the mills every day from 6.30 to 6, and then pull-hauls 
on the fiddle from 8 to 12 — or later — every night in 
the week, how much time has he got for training his 
near speedster? 


Page 95 


Something About Steam 

Dear Bill: — As an outsider allow me to congrat- 
ulate you on your exhaustive definition on the uses 
that the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company makes 
of the knot-holes. I always knew you as a first-class 
drummer but never dreamed that you would develop 
into so able an editor. 

Here is another subject which I would like to have 
you explain. What becomes of the exhaust steam 
that the Amoskeag Manufacturing Company has to 
contend with every day? Hoping you will be able 
to treat the above subject at an early date, I am, yours 
very truly, 

OUTSIDE READER. 

My Steamed Friend: — Your heated question 
nearly escaped me, but I managed to turn the right 
valve and reduce the pressure caused by the sudden 
jolt of your blow-off regarding my ability as an editor 
and a drummer. I have often reclined on my downy 
couch (pronounced cooch) and piped the rat-a-tat-tat 
of the radiator and wondered if my drumming 
bothered people the way the steam pipes annoyed me. 

However that is neither here nor there. I am 
mighty glad to furnish the information your heart 
craves. The exhaust steam goes to the same place that 
the waste smoke hikes to when it leaves the company’s 
big stacks. I expect when they get together they have 
a game of checkers — or rummy. When you die you 
will be given a forcible manifestation, for you will 
more than likely see plenty of steam and smoke. 

Before it becomes exhausted the steam is used for 
many purposes. Some of it is used to turn the wheels 
of this mighty plant. More of it is used by many of 


Page 96 


the people about the plant in trying to demonstrate 
their importance. That is what makes the steam 
exhausted. I really cannot see what use steam is in 
the mills, when everything runs by electricity. 

Of course, in winter it heats the mills, but there 
is so much hot air tossed about by the aforesaid that 
we could very well get along without steam. From 
my point of view I think the most real good could be 
accomplished by piping some of it up to the houses 
on the corporation to keep the puny children — like 
myself — warm and comfortable. Hoping you are 
satisfied with this explanation, I am, exhaustedly 
yours, 

BILL. 


Put Up Whole Flags 

I have remarked, in this column, on one or two 
occasions, that the flags on the different mills did not 
receive proper treatment in raising and lowering. 
While I have noticed a somewhat more careful 
handling on the part of those whose duty it is to look 
after that work, I wish to offer at this time a kindly 
hint that the flags now in use, many of them at least, 
should be carefully laid away and a new supply 
secured to take their places. 

Some of the flags are in a deplorable condition. 
Apparently, the man whose duty it is to look after 
their welfare has overlooked the fact that wind and 
storm play havoc with the material, and in some cases 
the bars are worn off nearly to the field of stars. Let’s 
show whole flags and do the thing right or take them 
in for the winter. 


Page 97 


Thought More of His Pipe 

Bill Lowe lives near the end of the Bridge street 
car line and on one of the cold mornings, recently, he 
started to hoof it to his work in the worsted dye house. 
He thought his pipe would keep away the cold, but 
was compelled to quit his smoke and unthinkingly 
shoved the glowing pipe into his pocket. 

The natural result of such an action is the 
purchase of a new pair of panties and a decidedly sore 
spot in the region of the pocket. He is more sorry for 
the loss of the pipe, which was broken in squelching 
the smudge, than by the inconvenience caused to his 
purse. 


Afraid to Go Out 

Arthur Burnham’s bride is kept cooped up in the 
house, now, all the time. Since the advent of that 
chest of silver she is afraid to go out, fearful that 
some bold, bad man, with evil intent, might enter 
the premises and make away with the shiny stuff. 


Ever Been Seasick? 

Some of those fellows who have been lucky 
enough to get their names into this column seem to 
be of the opinion that I would not print anything 
that savored of a joke upon myself. This statement 
has been made several times this week owing to a 
misfortune that “rose up” before me while at York 
Beach for the week-end. 

I don’t see how anyone can term seasickness a 


Page 98 


joke. To me it is more of a choke. If there is any 
excuse that a man can give for not being seasick in a 
twenty-foot motor boat, four or five miles from land 
with a heavy sea tossing him about, I’d like to know it. 

I was sick! That’s a joke! Ha! Ha! You can 
tack on a couple of Hee, Hee’s, too, if you want too. 
To me it was no joke at all, and I positively refuse to 
consider it as such. I’m just uncharitable enough to 
believe that Perley Smith put the job up on me. He 
happened to be spending a few days at the beach and 
invited me to go out fishing with himself and his 
cousin Bill. I liked Bill because he could chew 
tobacco and talk at the same time. 

Perley doesn’t tell about how scared he got when 
we shipped a whole bunch of water and he was in the 
way, thereby getting soused. Water was all the wet 
goods there was on board, so he got soused with that. 
I am sure that those two Smith fellows just picked 
out the roughest parts of the ocean to run that boat 
through. 

It was great for a time, then things changed, 
especially my inward feelings. I was feeling fine, and 
enjoying every dip of the bloomin’ craft so long as 
Perley sat beside me. When we reached the fishing 
grounds, (they called the place “grounds” but I 
didn’t see anything but water) Perley switched 
around and sat opposite me. Now here is my reason 
for becoming sick. I was compelled to look into his 
face for at least a half hour, and I’ll leave it to anyone 
if that isn’t enough to make a well man sick. I say 
that I was seasick, because seeing Smith caused it. 

My, but it’s great! Honest, I didn’t care whether 
I ever caught a fish. I had one big satisfaction in 
feeding the poor devils. Perley remarked that my 


Page 99 


stomach must be weak, but when I could speak I 
told him I thought I was throwing it as far as it was 
really necessary, under the circumstances. Every- 
thing in my past life seemed to come up before me. 
Even the cunners I had eaten for breakfast seemed 
to give me the laugh as they dove back into the depths 
of their former habitat. The most excellent gems 
that Sherb Sleeper had so carefully baked for my 
special benefit proved to be of no benefit at all. They 
deserted me as if I had been a dogfish. It was a trying 
predicament. Everything was going out and nothing 
coming in. I had hard work trying to keep my seat 
in the boat. 

I was about to throw up my hands, when I heard 
Bill Smith say: “They ain’t no more, it’s all gone.” 

I thought he was alluding to my actions and it 
made my chest heave some more, but I found that he 
was speaking about the bait. If I ever welcomed a 
shortage of anything, it was the clams and mussels. 
Without them we could not fish, and the boat chugged 
us back to terra firma once more. 

I was mighty glad to return to America, for it 
seemed as if I had been gone a long time. This kind 
of a thing is what Perley Smith and a few others term 
a joke. It is real funny. Almost as funny as a crutch 
or a bunch of black crepe tied with a lavender ribbon 
to the bell pull. Yes it is — Not! 

Only a Dream 

What a funny dream I had the other night. 
I dreamed that I saw some galvanized iron garbage 
cans in the corporation back streets — but it was only 
a dream, to be sure. 


Page 100 


Mean Young Fellows 

Some of the women on the corporation are 
becoming mighty indignant because of the actions 
of many young fellows who go up and down the cor- 
poration streets, armed with sling-shots, peppering 
the doves and any stray cat that comes within 
shooting distance. 

What pleasure these young miscreants can find 
in bouncing shot and small stones off the backs of 
the birds is more than some of the women can figure 
out. Perhaps if they had ever been boys, and had 
played boys’ games they would understand. If some 
of these boys could take a trip to Boston and see the 
way pigeons and gray squirrels are treated on Boston 
Common, and learn how tame the birds become as a 
result of a feeling of safety, they would chuck their 
darned old sling-shots into the canal. 

Instead of carrying stones and shot in their 
pockets, they would have a supply of feed to scatter 
on the ground for the pretty little creatures. 


His Hopes Were Blasted 

Con Healey — not the boss painter — but he of the 
very sunny disposition who acts as watchman in the 
southern division, was a happy man for a time when 
he thought that they were going to celebrate St. 
Patrick’s Day twice a year. 

On the day of the official visit to the mills of the 
National Grangers, the party of sightseers was so large 
that it was split up into smaller parties and each 
contingent was given a different colored badge so 
that they would not stray away. You see, Bill 


Page 101 


Swallow figured that it would hardly be right to 
handcuff them together, so the scheme of different 
colored badges was hit upon. By thus giving the 
visitors this distinctive mark there would be no 
chance of mistaking them for Mike Conners and his 
gang. 

Well, it happened that the first lot that appeared 
down Con. Healey’s way, were the ones who wore 
green badges, and he was filled with joyousness when 
he beheld the crowd approaching. He bowed and 
scraped, as they filed past him, then stuck out his 
chest and strutted around, stopping frequently to 
flick a particle of dust from his natty uniform. His 
patriotism was about to reach the bursting point 
when another squad of “punkin huskers” hove in 
sight. They wore yellow badges! 

<< 

!” That is exactly what Con. shouted 

and then he rushed into the weave room and dove 
between a set of looms to shut out the terrible sight 
from his range of vision. 


Sympathy For a Fat Man 

The letter I received from a good friend taking 
up my defense against a recent attack made upon my 
physical appearance is withheld for the reason that 
I am so sensitive in regard to my unfortunate condition 
that I dislike to parade myself in print before the 
curious gaze of the public. However, I can at least 
find great comfort at times in digging out that letter, 
and in reading it through, realize that at least one 
kind soul has sympathy even for a fat man. 


Page 102 


Not Quite So Many 

Newspapers sometimes make funny breaks when 
it comes to printing anything in regard to the Amos- 
keag that is not taken from the Bulletin. In one 
paper last week, in an item regarding the flags flying 
above the different mills of the company it stated 
the number as 400. The reporter, no doubt, is aware 
that the Amoskeag is a big concern, but he must have 
a peculiarly imaginative brain to think up such a 
thing as 400 flags. 

You’d have to put one on every corner, some in 
the center and then hang two or three hundred from 
windows in order to display 400 flags on the mills. 
To avoid a repetition of such a mistake I will give a 
few pointers about the number of buildings and how 
many flags there are in use at the present time. 

There are 69 buildings in the Amoskeag mill 
yard. This, of course, does not include stone sheds 
or mortar sheds, watchmen’s shanties or lumber 
piles. Inside the yard there are upon the principal 
mills, a total of twenty-one flags. One in the children’s 
playground, one at Textile Field and one at the 
Recreation Grounds makes a grand total of twenty- 
four flags. Some difference from that 400, eh, brother? 


It May Never Be 

Dear Bill: — You say you will answer questions 
and here is one. When are you going to train down 
and get slim like a regular human being? 

BEAN POLE. 

Answer — I am putting it off until Jack Cuddy 
gets his nose straightened. 


Page 103 


A Menace to Safety 

Chief Healy might do a piece of good work if he 
would place a couple of his trusty policemen along 
Canal street, mornings, between 6 and 6.30 o’clock. 
The way a few motor cyclists tear up that thorough- 
fare, just when it is crowded with people going to 
work, is sure a caution. 

If the police could get hold of one of these fellows 
and club his head to a pulp, it would perhaps teach 
him a lesson. At any rate, the policeman would be 
cheered to the echo. 

Bertram Goulet went up Canal street, Tuesday 
morning, as if shot from a gun. He should have been 
shot by a gun. If he sees this story and still disregards 
the safety of pedestrians, I hope he gets the clubbing. 


Thought He Lost It 

Some bills are lucky — tens and fives especially — 
but this has to do with another kind of a Bill. Bill 
Mann, loomfixer in No. 11 mill, went home the other 
night and, on retiring, carefully placed his pocket 
book in the rim of his hat, so he wouldn’t forget it in 
the morning. He spent the remainder of the night — 
not his money — in sleep. 

Arising in haste in the morning, he dressed, 
put on his hat, and then spent 6 minutes 43 1-5 
seconds looking for his cash. Not being able to see 
the top of his own head, he was forced to walk in from 
his home near the lake. His ejaculations of joy were 
lurid when the aforesaid money fell off his hat at 
the mill. 


Page 104 


Why Not Medals for Long Service? 

Why wouldn’t it be a good scheme for the 
Amoskeag Manufacturing Company to take official 
recognizance of the many faithful employees in the 
mills who have served for thirty years and over? 
A medal system for 30, 35, 40, 45 and 50 year service 
veterans would mean a whole lot to these men and 
women who have toiled so long for the Company. 

It seems to me that something could be done to 
let these people know that their faithfulness to the 
corporation is appreciated. These old timers are 
always ready to tell of the fine treatment that has 
always been accorded them by the officials of the 
company, and are proud of the fact that their records 
date back to so many years. 

There are mighty few, if any, corporations or 
private concerns that can boast of so many long- 
service employees. Not all of them, by any means, 
have risen to positions of trust, but that fact does not 
in the least take away from them the proud distinction 
that they have been a part of the cause of the Com- 
pany’s success. 

They are just as much interested in that success 
as are those men who are at the head of things and 
why would it not seem right and proper that a medal 
or certificate of some kind should be given to them? 
How does it strike you? 

Just as Good as Mushrooms 

Billy Ball, of the Coolidge north lower weave 
room, has had a tin stomach added to his anatomy, 
so they say. He can now eat toadstools without 
danger of suffering any ill effects from the poison. 

Page 105 



Taking Down the Flag 

Here is a case of lack of respect for the American 
flag. The time, Monday evening, November 17th, 
1913, 4.55 p. m. The place, roof of tower on No. 3 
mill, central division. 

The following was seen by the observer: The 
person whose duty it is to lower the flag on this tower, 
climbed the iron ladder to the roof, loosened the 
halyard and began lowering the flag. The wind was 
a little strong and the flag was seen to be blowing about 
the roof when a number eight shoe was ushered in as a 
weight, during the operation of unbighting the flag 
from the halyard. 

The person who was thus honored to attend to 
Old Glory remained standing upon the flag while the 
halyard was being coiled upon the pole. The next 
operation as witnessed was the throwing of the flag 
from the roof of the tower to the roof of No. 3 mill, 
while the flag bearer descended unhampered and 
recovered the flag and disappeared within the tower. 


Bill Alger Found a Pearl 

Has anyone noticed the pearl in Overseer Bill 
Alger’s shirt front? If you haven’t, well, the next 
time you see Big Bill just let your lamps gaze on that 
beautiful stone, and perhaps, if he is feeling good, he 
will tell you a story about it that beats the best fairy 
tale heard on the West Side for many a moon. 

When you have swallowed the yarn, it’s a safe 
bet that whether or not you care for oysters on the 
half shell, you will buy a peck just to see if you 
are as lucky as Bill was last week. 


Page 107 


Took the Wrong Duds 

George Baker, who works in the pin shop for 
H. E. Richardson, is quite an athlete and during the 
summer months is the star boxman for the Amoskeag 
Juniors’ baseball team. This last fall he has been 
putting up a good game for the Juniors’ soccer team. 

When the team went to Concord, recently, to 
play a game with the capital city boys, George rushed 
home and grabbed a bundle which he supposed 
contained his football togs. When he arrived at the 
grounds in Concord and proceeded to change his 
apparel he was much surprised to discover that he had 
brought his sister’s nightie instead of his own knicker- 
bockers. 

Of course the rest of the gang handed him the 
once over in merry style and he is still obliged to put up 
with a great deal of quiet josh. 


Neighbors Heard Him Fall 

People living in the vicinity of Canal and Merri- 
mack streets were given a good scare one day last 
week. There was a deep detonation, followed by a 
loud splash and everyone rushed to the doors to see 
what was the matter. 

Many thought that a great amount of ice had 
come rapidly down the canal and run against some- 
thing solid, but the noise proved to be only Phil 
English doing a flip-flap on the ice. 

He must make an awful slushy kind of a sound 
when he falls. He says he’s not as fat as I am, but 
I still have a razor handy and when I reach his size 
I shall cut my throat. 


Page 108 


He Has One Rooster 


Clarence M. Woodbury has gone into the poultry 
business. To be sure, at present his business is small 
and his stock in trade consists of only one live rooster. 
A very kind friend presented him with the bird for 
his Christmas dinner, but Clarence thought the 
rooster was so pretty he hated to have it killed. 

He is keeping it down in the cellar and the 
neighbors are putting up all kinds of kicks on account 
of the confounded crowing. He brought Mr. Rooster 
to a grocery store and had him weighed and was 
overjoyed to find that he tipped the scales at eight 
and one-half pounds. The police have paid several 
visits to the house and even Bill Blake, of the health 
board was sent up by the neighbors. 

Clarence intends to build a nice hen house as 
soon as the weather permits and will then purchase 
a few hens to keep the rooster from being lonely. 
One big reason why Clarence wrote that letter to 
the Bulletin advocating stopping at 5.30 at night 
during the summer is so that he could devote the time 
to looking after his poultry. I expect he will soon 
be bringing eggs down to the mill and getting fancy 
prices for them. 


Will Take More Than Gas 

Captain Jack Cuddy refuses to die. After 
having passed through over twenty years of military 
service, he says he will not be put out of business by 
such a light thing as illuminating gas. Stick to it, 
Jack, and perhaps you will live to blow the bugle at 
your own funeral. 


Page 109 


Work for the Dentist 


The following was printed in a local paper 
recently under the heading “25 Years Ago in the 
City of Manchester,” and I could not help feel, while 
reading the item, a great deal of sympathy for the 
poor wheel: 

“A crown gear wheel nine feet in diameter, in 
No. 3 mill of the Amoskeag corporation, suffered the 
loss of every tooth about ten minutes before 6 o’clock 
last night. Steam will be utilized until the gear is 
repaired, which will not be for several days.” 

It does not state if the wheel went through the 
dental operation without the use of ether, but if it 
did it surely must have suffered considerable and then 
some more. 


He Threw the Bull 

Arthur Burnham created a big stir on last Sunday 
morning when he rushed out into the back street from 
his home to haul his bull dog away from a feeble old 
toothless spaniel that the bull was proceding to chew 
into fragments. Arthur was real angry at his dog and 
the way he threw the bull around was a caution. 

That he should be given a Carnegie medal for 
saving a life there is strong proof, but his biggest act 
of bravery was in rushing to the rescue clad in his 
pajamas and slippers. He sure did look kind of out 
of place on a cold morning and I’m of the opinion 
that I would have appreciated it a great deal more 
if the poor old spaniel did not happen to be my own 
Tony. 


Page 110 


He Proved He Could Shoot 


Charlie Lake picked up a bowling team in the 
press room of the worsted finishing department and 
defeated the southern division cloth room team of 
the Textile league. A hard losing supporter of the 
latter team got sore and told the reason why Charlie 
didn’t thank the man from whom he borrowed the 
revolver to shoot the skunk. 

At his place over in ’Squog, Charlie had a nice 
Angora cat and one night he attempted to pick up 
his furry friend and the boys all claim he grabbed a 
skunk. He was accused of not knowing the difference 
between a skunk and a fifteen dollar cat, so to prove 
that he did, he determined to shoot the skunk. 

He borrowed a revolver and went looking for 
Mr. Skunk. At last he met him, or thought he did, and 
opened fire. He killed the animal all right enough, 
but it proved to be his Angora cat. Naturally he 
was as mad as a wet hen and did not even thank the 
man who loaned him the gun. 


Discovered His Secret 

Everett P. Gleason believes that a penny saved 
is a penny earned and also that a cigar butt blanked 
in the morning can be finished up at noon. 

He uses an old pipe as a “safe” and avoids danger 
of a conflagration in his pocket by putting the half 
smoked cigar, business end first, into the bowl of the 
pipe. His friends have been at a loss to understand 
how he could afford to smoke so many cigars but now 
that the secret is discovered they have ceased to 
wonder. 


Page 111 


Knew His Business 


Jack Weddig was once upon a time the proud 
wearer of a policeman’s uniform and I am told that if 
it wasn’t for the fact that he was such a good-natured 
cuss he might now be wearing some of the gold braid 
that the commissioners were passing around a few 
weeks ago. In looking around for someone to play 
a policeman’s part in the recent minstrel show of the 
Textile club, the entertainment committee thought 
of Happy Jack, so he was signed up for the season of 
one one-night stand. 

Jack played his part to perfection and his makeup 
was so good that no one recognized him. In handing 
out bouquets to the several participants in the 
performance, Jack was overlooked by the writer in 
the report of the proceedings and learning that his 
feelings were hurt, I take this means of publicly 
begging his pardon and I hope that this little mention 
will calm all fears that his work was not appreciated. 
Jack, you are all right and here is hoping that you 
may never see the back of your neck. 


It Wouldn’t Be Surprising 

Grace Robbins, the very pleasing secretary of 
the Woman’s Textile Club, performed a feat of feeding 
candy to three of the big fire horses, on the morning 
of the Folsom-Barton conflagration, that required 
some nerve to go through with. Still, I have never 
yet known Grace to shy at anything and I would not 
be surprised to hear soon that she had stepped into a 
lion’s cage and insisted that Mr. Lion allow her to 
manicure his nails. 


Page 112 


She Was Roughly Handled 

About the toughest proposition encountered in 
publishing the Bulletin is found in trying to get news 
of interest to the members of the Woman’s Textile 
Club. They all have a faculty of thinking it is up to 
Miss So-and-So or Miss Whosethis and the result is 
that very little of the affairs of the club gets into print. 

My knees are calloused begging for a story of the 
“indoor field meet,” held two weeks ago, and here we 
are, all ready for the press and nothing doing yet. 
Whatever kind of a time they had at that session 
seems very mysterious and judging from the battered 
condition of Lillian Greager, one of the vice-presidents, 
they must have had a sure-enough, bang-up time. 

Her overseer says he hopes she will remain away 
from the next one so that she won’t be obliged to stay 
out for several days on account of sprains and bruises. 


Just Like Perry 

Anyone who thinks that he is having a tough 
time in this life and that his job is hard and kicks 
about little disagreeable things that happen, should 
get a place with the gang whose duty it is to keep 
the ice away from the racks in the canals. 

Wielding those heavy poles, coated with ice, on 
mornings like we have had this week is a nice sweet 
job — not. I understand that Perry Dow, who is 
ever thoughtful for humanity, recently rushed up 
town and purchased new, warm gloves for a bunch 
of those fellows working on the lower canal. Well, 
that’s Perry, all over. 


Page 113 


They Deserve Something 

When the Textile Bowling league started, the 
Pitiful Printers, in the first match, made three points. 
The second evening’s rolling gave them one more, 
making a magnificent total of four points to their 
credit. It seems years and years ago since that 
happened and they have been steadily at work ever 
since trying to corral one more point. 

What is the reason for all this? It cannot be that 
the boys are rotten bowlers! Surely not! It is just a 
case of tough luck. I think that a special prize should 
be given them for making such a deplorable showing. 
If I had my way about it, I would give them some- 
thing. I would sentence each one of them to be kicked 
to death by wild spiders. 


He Needs Them Now 

James Clapp, of the southern division cloth room, 
is mourning the loss of a couple of shirts, stolen from 
the clothes line a short time ago. Jim says he could 
use all his shirts now in an attempt to keep warm and 
hopes the guy who pinched his haberdashery will 
freeze his feet to the top of his head. 


Another Man, Same Name 

Patrick Leonard, foreman of the central division 
electrical department, wants it distinctly understood 
that he was not the man who was arrested for assault- 
ing a woman with a chair. Pat says he can prove an 
alibi. 


Page 114 


All Records Shattered 


The work of the Pitiful Printers in the Textile 
Bowling league race just ended has been of the 
phenomenal order. They have positively and abso- 
lutely held a death clutch upon the cellar berth in the 
standing of the teams and if an opposing team rolled 
in tough luck against them, the Printers would simply 
wear the gutter smooth chasing the balls off the alley. 

They won five points out of a possible 84! Isn’t 
that a record to be proud of? Everybody is figuring 
now, trying to dope out how in the world they ever 
made those five points. 

When Joe Petit, who is in Philadelphia, hears of 
the game they won from the bleachery boys he will 
more than likely feel so elated that he will want to 
kick the stuffing out of the U. S. Mint and send them 
the pieces. 

A percentage of .059. Wow! 


Go and See This Tie 

Those who have seen Peter Gunderman of late 
cannot help admiring the beautiful necktie which he 
occasionally wears. It is a magnificent effulgence of 
luminosity. The scheme contains all the primary, 
secondary and tenary shades, with black and white 
for a chaser. The color waves are very lengthy and 
tickle the optic at quite a distance. A close view of 
the design gives a perfect rhythm of motion shapes, 
such as ships, sea-gulls, anchors, black bass, lobsters, 
horseshoes, dragon flies, bull-frogs, etc. It is really a 
big show, and those who have not seen and heard it 
can easily reckon one-half their life wasted. 


Page 115 


There’s Many a Slip 

Fishermen, like kings, are born not made. 
Another fact has also been proven to the complete 
satisfaction of Arthur Tinkham, second hand in the 
Coolidge south lower weave room, and that is, that 
having the outfit of an ice fisherman and spending a 
long weary day on the ice does not always prove that 
you are going to have a fish dinner on Sunday. 

There is many a slip between the hook and the 

pan. 

If any other would-be fisherman is thinking of 
going ice fishing and is looking for information on the 
subject, just talk it over with Tinkham. See the 
blisters on both hands caused by the fun of making 
holes through eighteen inches of ice, hear him tell 
all the pleasures of that frosty Saturday when the 
fish were all on a vacation and refused to bite and then 
do as poor Tinkham will do hereafter — go up to New- 
ton’s fish market and buy your fish. 


Andy Was Surprised 

Andrew Fisher, Jr., upon whom the entire 
responsibility for the successful management of the 
Amoskeag Manufacturing Company once rested, 
was a recent visitor in the mills. Andy was much 
surprised to observe that all the wheels were turning 
and the dye houses doing business full as competently 
as they did under his superintendency. 

He couldn’t have been so much when he was 
hanging around here, for Chester Guild says that he 
(Chester) is doing Andy’s work and his own and had 
time to get married and move out on a farm at that. 


Page 116 


The Canal to Boston 


When was the old canal built and when did the 
last boat make the trip from Boston to Concord? 
Just where did the wooden dam cross the river? 
Let us have some facts concerning this historic canal. 

Answer — Hon. Samuel Blodgett built the old 
Amoskeag Canal after many trials and discourage- 
ments. It was completed on May 1, 1807. It was 
used quite extensively for a number of years, but the 
coming of the railroads soon put canals out of business. 
In October and December, 1835, the Amoskeag Com- 
pany purchased a controlling interest in the locks and 
canals both here and at Hooksett. The company had 
previously purchased the large farms known as the 
“McGregor farm” and the “Blodgett farm.” I can 
find no record of when the last boat made the trip 
from Boston to Concord. The old wooden dam was 
a little further up stream than the present one and ran 
straight across the river. 


For the Veterans 

The suggestion, in this column, several weeks 
ago, that the Amoskeag Company present to its 
veteran employees a medal or certificate of some sort, 
caused quite a bit of favorable comment in the mills. 

I have recently learned that Mr. Harry J. 
Ricketson, agent of the Suncook mills, engineered 
a plan along those lines, early last fall. He presented 
gold and silver watches, I understand, and his com- 
pany received the blessings of those old people who 
had given many years of their lives in the performance 
of their duties in the mills. 


Page 117 



Levi Payne on the Job 


Here is a picture of Levi Payne, the remnant 
store man. His pleasing ways and obliging manner 
have won for him many friends among the patrons 
of the store on Canal street. 


Page 118 



The Settlement Was Made 


Dear Bill: — A few of us Thursday nighters at 
the Park Theatre noted the regularity with which the 
Clarkes and Kendalls honored the house with their 
presence early in the season. We also noted the 
fact that when Frank Clarke, on account of serious ill- 
ness, was unable to attend, John Kendall was also con- 
spicuously absent. And when Frank was again able 
to resume his seat in the house, John was also in 
evidence. 

We onlookers thought it a Damon and Pythias 
friendship and marveled not. But our sentiment was 
slated for a rude jolt when Frank informed us that the 
real reason for little John’s absence lay in the fact 
that Frank had always financed the party until 
sickness prevented his so doing. It is all clear to us 
now. There is no such thing as disinterested friend- 
ship. 

A DRAMATIC CRITIC. 

I will say to you, my dear Dramatic Critic, that 
your billet-doux interested me deeply, and, out of 
respect to your friendship and position I nearly 
waived the rule of the Bulletin to print nothing 
without investigation. On second thought I did 
investigate and am very glad, in the interest of truth 
and honor, that I did so. 

As a matter of fact John Kendall was at the Park 
nearly every week during his chum’s sickness. Fur- 
thermore he claims it is he who has purchased the 
tickets every week, as it is only slightly out of his way 
home to do so. 

And let me add still further that Frank Clarke 
was supposed to reimburse him for one-half the 


Page 119 


general expense which he steadfastly failed to do and 
that Frank Clarke’s sickness was the direct result of 
John Kendall’s insisting upon a settlement which 
was effected to the satisfaction of John, but not of 
Frank. I am glad to have this opportunity of putting 
matters in their true light. 

BILL. 


Not Taking Chances 

Corporation kids have missed the skating at the 
Amoskeag children’s playground this winter, but 
the water has had a habit of finding its way under the 
B. & M. tracks and raising havoc with the road bed. 

It is supposed that the B. & M. system has become 
so shaky that a further decline will put the railroad 
company out of business so no chances are being taken. 


To Stop Skidding 

Mrs. Alma Grade allows that if someone would 
furnish her with a pair of roller skates she could 
navigate through the burling room with more safety. 
I would suggest a little more ballast or a pair of spiked 
shoes. 


Causes Serious Trouble For Driver 

Gene Sargent, who is an enthusiastic autoist, 
says that there is one thing he hates to run over and 
that is a baby. Gene claims that broken nursery 
bottles raise the dickens with tires. 


Page 120 


Perley’s Perfect Potatoes 


Friends have begun to bring to this office their 
annual donations in the line of vegetables. I might 
include that this year is the first annual and only one 
man has made a donation. Perley Smith, who, when 
he is not hunting mushrooms down near the lower 
weirs, looks after the millwrights in the southern 
division, came in a day or two ago with a large 
package under his arm. 

I thought at first it might be fish, but was more 
than surprised when he unfolded to my enraptured 
gaze four large potatoes of the Murphy variety. 
He quietly whispered that the combined weight was 
six and sixteen-sixteenths pounds. I wanted to make 
sure he was on the level about the weight, and after 
he had left with my thanks (that's all I had in my 
pocket) I turned to and weighed the potatoes myself. 

He did not tell the truth. I found that the 
actual weight was six pounds and seventeen-sixteenths. 
I ate part of one yesterday and it was fine, Perley. 
I hope you will come here often, direct from your 
Litchfield farm and duplicate your donation. 


But the Name Doesn't Count 

Mrs. Lizzie Prahl is vice-president of the Woman's 
Textile Club and is mighty popular and well liked. 
Her friends would have been horrified had they seen 
her on one of those slippery days last week, just 
as she started for No. 11 mill from her home. If a 
person’s name was determined from his or her appear- 
ance then Lizzie’s last name should be Sprawl. 


Page 121 


Spoiling the Color Scheme 

Complaints come to the printing office against 
this or that kind of paper, about envelopes or tags 
that are not made of the right kind of stock and 
sometimes (not often) that someone is waiting for 
something we have in process of production. 

A funny kick was registered the other day by a 
young lady clerk in the northern division. She got 
me on the telephone and the following conversation 
took place: 

“I ordered some blue blotting paper and you 
sent me a buff color and I can’t use it,” she said, 
trying hard not to show her vexation at the thought 
that we were color blind. 

“Why can’t you use it?” I asked in my usually 
soft and sweet tone of voice. “The blue we had was 
a poor quality and the buff is a much better grade.” 

“I don’t care anything about the quality or the 
grade, either, I want blue.” I could plainly see from 
the tone of her voice that she did want blue. 

“But I don’t understand why you can’t use the 
buff, its a great deal better paper,” says I, sparring 
for time. 

“I don’t like the color,” she hurled at me over 
the wire. “Blue just matches everything in the 
office and the buff clashes so that everything is out 
of harmony.” 

I commenced to think that she and her boss had 
the blues occasionally to help the color scheme along, 
but I didn’t tell her that. I put on a very thoughtful 
expression and attempted to help things along with 
the following: 

“It is impossible to go back to blue blotting 
paper, but I will speak to Mr. Straw and see if he 

Page 122 


won’t have Con. Healy’s men go up and redecorate 
your office to match the buff blotter. Will that be 
satisfactory?” Perhaps I was a bit sarcastic, but 
the “clash” business sort of got my nanny. 

“Why don’t you go to the Boston office?” came 
the reply very quickly and cuttingly. 

“I will — .” Bing! Up went her receiver. I 
was shot to pieces. But I am still wondering about 
the color scheme of things. 


Correct Height of Chimney 

Well, Mr. Editor, you say fire away with the 
questions, so here goes: Some say the Amoskeag 
chimney is 265 feet high, others say the brick totals 
that figure plus 14 feet of iron work in the cap. Let 
us have the correct figures. 

Answer — The Amoskeag chimney is 255 feet 
above the underpinning of the west side of the boiler 
house and 265 feet above the floor of the boiler house, 
the height of the chimney being determined from that 
point to the top of the cap. 


And He Is a Sober Youth 

Harold Walker, who spends his days in the 
printing office and his nights at a camp up the river, 
must have had something besides a nightmare the 
other night. 

He says he was awakened by the barking of an 
animal that sounded like a dog, but the next morning 
he saw a couple of rabbits. I can’t quite get him on 
that rabbit stuff. 


f Page 123 


Not Our Mike 

Senator Mike Ahern is in bad with many of his 
friends and is trying hard to straighten out matters 
and explain the truth of a very embarassing situation. 

A man giving the same name which the senator 
has made famous throughout the state, was arrested 
charged with the non-support of his wife and four 
minor children. 

Billy Entwistle was up here from Portsmouth the 
other day, and said he read it in the papers and was 
horrified to learn of Mike’s fall from grace. 

I am glad to assure the senator’s friends that he 
was not the person to whom the article alluded and I 
publish this that it might set him right again with the 
world. 

The Dream Comes True 

Garbage cans with covers will be placed at the 
back doors of the corporation tenements. The order 
has been received in the machine shop and work 
has already been commenced on the cans and when 
warm weather comes again the housewives will be 
happy from the fact that the old breeding places 
for flies will have been done away with. 

Help Was Near 

Nellie Davis was unfortunate enough to get 
caught under a snow slide a few days ago, but kindly 
hands wielding snow shovels rescued her before any 
great damage had been done except to ruffle her 
feelings a bit. 


Page 124 


A Chance to Advertise 

The Amoskeag Company is passing up a big 
chance to advertise. Directly opposite the railroad 
station, where the coal is stored for the southern 
division boiler house, is a dead wall about five hundred 
feet long and nine feet high, which could be utilized 
for statistics of the company and would be read by 
thousands of people passing through the city in the 
Boston & Maine trains. 

All the trains stop directly opposite this wall and 
some good reading matter, painted attractively upon 
its surface, would boost the Company and spread the 
fame of our fair city far and wide. This idea should 
be taken into consideration by the officials of the 
Company. 


Changed His Mind 

James Fairfield, foreman of the Amoskeag 
foundry, intended to pass his vacation in Quebec, 
but being afraid the immigration officials would take 
him for a German spy, he concluded he had better 
stay in Manchester where Mike Connors and his 
other friends (?) could look out for him. 


Still Has Hopes 

Whenever the water is let out of the canal, Ed. 
Heath races up and down the banks looking for the 
hat that he lost some time ago. The hat blew into 
the canal and sunk so quickly that a rescue was 
impossible. 


Page 125 


But He Got Her Home 


Gilbert Page, of the printing office, had a tough 
luck time in his attempt to entertain his lady friend 
from Lowell at the Elks’ ball, recently. 

Gilbert intended to return the lady to her home 
via automobile, after the ball was over, but repairs 
on the Merrimack bridge queered that. He did not 
find out about the bridge until it was pretty late and 
then he had to hustle to catch the last Nashua car. 

They just missed the last Lowell car at Hudson 
and was unable to secure an automobile in Nashua to 
continue the journey, but he telephoned to Lowell 
and hired a machine to come after him. 

There is a fellow who does not allow little things 
to interfere with his pleasures or dampen the spirits 
of his company girl. 


Heard the Wrong Bark 

Capt. Ed. Brophy approached the frankfurter 
stand where Bill Spring was acting as chef, at the 
field day, and allowing one of those justly celebrated 
broad smiles to engulf his countenance, addressed 
Bill thusly: 

“So it’s here you are, is it? Keeper of the dog 
pound, eh? Do you know what attracted me over 
here? It was the barking of the dogs.” 

“No, it wuzn’t either, the barking of the dogs,” 
Bill answered, as he yanked another string of frank- 
furters out of the box. “Nor it wuzn’t the bark on 
the trees you heard either, the barking that attracted 
your attention was Cuddy barking his shins falling 
over this box.” 


Page 126 


Here Is a Hot One 


Please carefully read the following paragraph, 
which was sent in by a Bulletin enthusiast: 

“At the juvenile entertainment, Miss Iller, of 
the planning office, did not forget she was a kid when 
it came to the feed. Once when I got my lamps on to 
her, she was having quite a time juggling six cups of 
cocoa with her mouth, cram full of crackers, and she 
managed to successfully get outside the whole of it.” 

Now then, what do you see? Miss Iller was 
juggling six cups of cocoa with her mouth, cram full 
of crackers. Believe me, she is some juggler. The 
Keith circuit would pay good money for an act like 
that. Also, does the party mean that, while Miss 
Iller was juggling the six cups, she got outside of 
her mouth? Looks that way doesn’t it. 


Beans Is Beans 

There was just one order of beans, served at the 
recent outing, that was not exactly right in every 
particular. The beans in question had been taken 
from the top of the pot and were just a trifle dry. 

That helping, of course, was served to our genial 
president, “W. P.,” and Fred Caswell says that he 
would gladly have given his right ear rather than 
have it happen as it did. 

No other beans in the entire 400 quarts were in 
the same condition and it really is a pity, for the one 
man on the grounds whom the committee intended 
to cater to was, of course, the president of the club. 

But such is life. 

And such is beans. 


Page 127 



Charlie Franks’ Safety Razor 

Is a safety razor one of the greatest inventions of 
any age and a blessing to mankind, or is it a delusion 


Page 128 


and a humbug ? Ask Charlie Franks. Down in the 
southern division there is a Real Handy Fellow who 
can tinker up any old thing from a shoelace to a watch 
or an automobile, and to him Charlie Franks came 
one morning and with a smile that was a beautiful 
blending of apology and humility, said: 

“Hey, do you know anything about a safety 
razor? I bought one o’ the darned things and all the 
soap, bayrum, face powder and everything that goes 
with it, and last night I lathered my face up and went 
over it with the safety razor five times and — ” 

“You went over your face with a safety razor 
five times?” broke in the R. H. F. “Why, your face 
looks like a doormat now!” 

“I know it,” answered Charlie. “But I went 
over my face five times, just the same, and I brought 
the darned thing down to see if you can find out what’s 
wrong with it.” 

“Give it here,” said the R. H. F., and going to 
the window he examined the little mowing machine 
carefully. 

Charlie stood by with the look of an innocent man 
who had been badly swindled. A sort of righteous 
indignation blazed in his eyes until the R. H. F. said: 

“I can’t see anything wrong with this safety 
razor, Charlie, only you’ve got the blade in the rear 
end to, and you were trying to shave yourself with 
the back of it.” 


Here Is Another Rule 

Smoking on the closed cars of the Manchester 
Traction Company has been forbidden. There has 


Page 129 


been considerable discussion in regard to the rule 
and much has been printed in the daily papers, airing 
this or that person’s views. 

Of course, the Traction Company is perfectly 
right in making rules that will bring comfort to the 
greatest number of its patrons, but it is a question as 
to whether or not the greater number is in favor of 
this new order of things. 

Now, I am not in any way trying to use my great 
influence in an endeavor to have this order reversed, 
but there is just one little matter that might be 
called to the attention of the officials of the road and 
it is as follows: 

Make a rule that will prohibit the motormen on 
open cars from spitting in the faces of the people 
occupying the front seats. 

Motormen who use chewing tobacco seem to 
forget that when the car is moving at a fair rate of 
speed the spray from their expectorations naturally 
flies backward, and the passengers get the full benefit 
of the disagreable mist. 

Some of the fair sex who were instrumental in 
having the smoking rule enforced would do a favor 
by taking up this matter. 

Does Happen Sometimes 

Charlie Currier cut his lip last Saturday, at 
the new Chinese restaurant, while eating a planked 
steak. He says the steak was delicious, just the same. 
The report fails to inform his friends whether the cut 
was received from his knife or fork. 

Sword swallowers sometimes do meet up with an 
accident if they keep up the practice long enough. 


Page 130 


A Delicate Subject 

Dear Bill: — As you claim to know something 
about the fishing game, would like your opinion of 
two fellows who spent a day and a half fishing at the 
Weirs and came home without even one lonely fish. 

That is not all. When one of our friends did get 
a bite he was fast asleep and Mr. Fish took a feed 
and glided gracefully away. For further particulars 
see Ernest Simpson or Arthur Simons. 

MINNOW. 

Friend Minnow: — You must be some kind of a 
fish, yourself, to possess such a cognomen. You say 
you would like my opinion? Well, my friend, I 
always dislike to express myself very strongly in a 
case of this kind, because some day I may go fishing 
and be obliged to return without any fish. You can 
easily understand my position, can’t you? 

BILL. 


She Won’t Smile Again 

A1 Law, one of the plumbers connected with the 
tenement gang can now be found any evening hanging 
around Barton’s, gazing through the window at one 
of the beautiful wax figures designed to show off the 
latest creations in modish effects. 

A1 was ambling by the store one night, when he 
imagined the young lady gave him a smile. He has 
haunted the place ever since, trying to get her to 
repeat, but she remains cold and stiff to all his ad- 
vances, although he is said to have tried to win her 
with a box of Lowney’s bon bons. 


Page 131 


Hints About Flies 


Dear Bill: — I know that you are so good at 
answering all kinds of questions and that you stand 
ready, at all times, to help people out of difficulties 
with your ever resourceful fund of advice, that I feel 
no hesitancy in putting up to you a matter which, at 
this season of the year, is very apropos. 

It is the simple question of the safest, easiest 
and least expensive way of keeping flies out of the 
kitchen during the hot weather. 

Now, my dear and sometimes respected friend, 
will you tell me in your Mill Waste column the best 
way to do this, for I would like very much to have 
the pesky nuisances restrained from entering my 
premises unbidden. Thanking you in advance and 
awaiting with considerable interest, your answer in 
the next Bulletin, I beg to remain, 

FLYLESS. 

My dear Flyless: — You certainly can rub it into 
a fellow just where the skin is thin and your very 
gracious allusions to my wisdom and resourcefulness 
compel me to make an endeavor to spread myself, 
so to speak, in giving you the desired information. 

I do not care to appear egotistical or the least 
bit conceited, but I really must say that you could 
not put this matter up to a better person than your 
humble servant for a correct solution of the greatest 
difficulty which will confront the American people 
during the next few months. 

In the first place, there are several ways in which 
the fly nuisance can be abated to some extent. These, 
of course, are familiar to all housewives and consist 
mainly in having your kitchen thoroughly screened, 


Page 132 


scattering sticky fly paper here and there, the use of 
the best saucers as a receptacle for patent poisons, 
the vigorous use of a folded newspaper or other 
reliable ‘ ‘swatter” and the balloon-shaped fly-traps, 
more common, perhaps, years ago. 

I have given you some of the methods practiced 
almost wholly by everybody interested in the glorious 
work. While in a way they are effective to some 
extent, the fly finds a way to dodge all these contri- 
vances and busily buzzes around the kitchen. 

Now I have several suggestions that, if carried 
out faithfully will surely keep the kitchen free from 
the germ-carrying monstrosities and they are as 
follows : 

1. Only cook food which is distasteful to flies. 

2. Hide yourself outside the kitchen door, and 
when a fly comes up and rings the bell for admittance 
grab him before he can get familiar with you, attach 
a heavy ball and chain to his leg and toss him over 
to your neighbor’s yard. By providing yourself with 
plenty of these iron weights you can take care of a 
great many flies and incidentally get square with 
your neighbor for not bringing back your toothbrush 
in good condition. 

3. If you can catch the flies in pairs, handcuff 
them together and hang them on the clothesline. 
They will naturally become imbued with a spirit of 
revenge and in most cases will seek redress from each 
other with a result that there will be a fight to a finish. 

4. If a fly appears at the kitchen door who shows 
aggressiveness, appeal to his better nature by a 
convincing argument which might impress him with 
the error of his ways. 

5. Among flies, as is the case with human beings, 

Page 133 


you will run up against some that are inclined to be 
a bit fresh. There is only one way to deal with such 
like. Insult them! Tell them right to their heads 
what beastly nuisances they are. Then, if they have 
any sense at all, they will beat it away in disgrace. 

6. Keep the kitchen dark. This is an old gag, 
but it serves to kid the flies into believing there is 
nobody home to bother and they will therefore seek 
brighter prospects. 

7. When you leave the house, never hide the 
key behind the blind, because some nosy fly might 
discover it and invite all his friends into the house 
and thereby find their way into the kitchen. 

8. Do no cooking in the kitchen. Use the front 
chamber. Flies haven’t got brains enough to think 
that anyone would do such a thing as cook in a bed- 
room and you can get away with it. 

9. On the first day of April, each year, fill your 
kitchen with formaldehyde. Nail the doors tightly 
and stuff all the cracks about the doors and windows 
with old rags and do not open up the kitchen again 
until the middle of December. This is the most 
effectual means I know of. 

BILL. 


Just as It Was Writ 

Dear Bill: — I was honorably glad to peruse your 
story about the venerable Perley Smith being took 
with seasick. 

It done me good because he made much con- 
versation about poor you when you was took sick 
the same thing. Give it to him. 

IRA. 

Page 134 


Why He Is a Mill Man 

Matt Whalley’s friends in the southern division 
are unaware that he almost became a farmer. When 
he first came to this country he secured a job in the 
rural districts, and the first day there he was stacked 
up against an ox team to drive. After filling the 
cart up with dressing he was told to drive it up into 
the field and dump the load. 

Matt managed to get the oxen into the field all 
right, but being somewhat of a greenhorn about 
farming, he did not understand about tipping the 
cart. So getting out in front of the oxen he waved 
both hands in their faces and shouted at the top of 
his voice: 

“Rear up there, yer onery cusses! Rear up and 
dump this darned load.” 

That is the principal reason why he is now 
working in the mill. 


Thought He Was a Spy 

Blondy Knight, with a few other congenial 
spirits, elected to put in their vacation time on a 
pretty lake across the line in Canada. 

One day, the aforesaid Blondy decided to go to 
the nearby town and inspect a big machine shop. 
One of his fellow campers went with him. 

It is sad to relate, but Blondy and his friend were 
arrested and held for some time, until they could 
prove to the satisfaction of the alert Canadian officials 
that they were not spies. 

You can imagine what the tow-haired local man 
_ said to his captors while he was in durance vile. 


Page 135 


He’s There With the Voice 


Israel Boucher, who looks after the purchasing 
of supplies for this great Amoskeag Company, is a hot 
baseball fan and is mighty loyal to the team repre- 
senting the Textile Club in the Manufacturers’ league. 

Bush is also a great admirer of Umpire Kilhourhy, 
the little man with the big voice. During the last 
game between Amoskeag and McElwain, one of the 
latter team’s supporters tried to give an imitation of 
the inimitable Joe’s delivery of “S-t-r-i-i-I-I-i-i-k-e.” 
The handsome blonde purchasing agent did not 
exactly like the poor attempt the McElwain man 
made, so he cut one loose himself. 

You can take it from me that Bush has got some 
voice and even Kilhourhy was startled when he heard 
what he thought was his own voice mocking him from 
the grandstand. If Bush ever pulls one of those 
yells in the Calumet club house, Fat Farrell will surely 
take to cover. 


Where Brains Are Needed 

Jim Yuill, Lyman Burbank, Billie Grocock, 
Fred Bond, Hi Turner and Henry Berger were having 
a debate in a certain place at a certain time upon the 
subject: “Which Requires the Most Brains and Skill, 
Carding or Weaving?” 

The referee was Charlie Bailey, who is a good 
brick mason, and after listening to the arguments for 
a couple of hours he decided that neither the carder 
or weaver needed any brains or skill, but that the 
spinner did. 


Page 136 


Working a Bunco Game 

Dear Bill: — William Davitt of No. 12, L. W. R. 
is in a lot of trouble, and is worrying over the loss of 
a pocket Book containing 1 . 85 and would like to have 
you find the same through the columns of the Bulletin. 
He was going to use the money to get a Hair Cut & 
shave and lots of other little things but now lets His 
Hair grow. 

L. W. R. 

Dear L. W. R.: — I am very much afraid that I 
will be unable to send your friend William the pocket- 
book, containing a dollar eighty-five, through the 
columns of the Bulletin. 

In the first place, I havn’t got his bloomin’ old 
pocket book and furthermore, I haven’t got the $1.85. 
If I had that much money at one time I’m afraid I’d 
become a spendthrift, for I would be tempted to buy 
some new winter flannels to wear this summer. It 
looks as if we’ll need ’em. 

How do I know but what this is a scheme of your 
own to try and squeeze the price of a few drinks out 
of me, by trying to get me to send you money. 

No sir, Lower Weave Room, I refuse to accede 
to your selfish request. 

BILL. 


When the Textile Girls Camp 

Doctor Bartlett is very anxious to know if his 
presence at the Rimmon camp, next week, wouldn’t 
lend a feeling of security to some of the timid females. 
Joe Doyle also hopes that the girls will need an 
efficient swimming instructor. 


Page 137 



Thought He Was a Gold Brick Man 

Supt. Jewett — (meeting old friend from the home 
town in Maine.) “Why, Silas Cobb, how do you do?” 

Silas — “No you don’t, young feller. B’gosh I’m 
onto all the big city tricks. I went to Bangor onct 


Page 138 


and learned the hull darned business. You can’t sell 
me no gold bricks.” 

Mr. Jewett — “Don’t you know your old friend 
Jewett?” 

Silas — “Well I’ll be goll dinged! How be ye? 
Didn’t know ye at fust glance! I came to town to 
make arrangements to bring the folks up to the 
Textile Club Fair and I thought mebbe you was one 
of them city sharpers.” 


Jack Was Frightened 

Jack Arthur, when paying off in the Coolidge 
mill, recently, very nearly lost control of himself 
when Mike Tonery, the elevator man, shot up another 
floor with Capt. Tim Sullivan, leaving the paymaster 
unprotected. 

Jack was much relieved when the kidnaper 
returned with the bodyguard, but both paymaster 
and guard were obliged to stand a whole lot of joshing 
from the Coolidge mill senators. 


Covered Garbage Cans Placed 

Covered garbage cans are being placed at the 
back doors of the corporation tenements. It is 
indeed a great innovation and the Amoskeag Company 
is receiving much praise for this splendid action. 

It is now up to the tenement holders to do their 
share in keeping the district clean and wholesome by 
using the receptacles for all kinds of rubbish, and 
above all, to always keep the covers in place, especially 
during the hot weather. 


Page 139 


Easy Way to Trim Trees 

Have you heard that Maurice Griffin has entered 
a new profession? Uh Huh! That’s right, tree 
surgery — not the painless kind. 

It seems that Maurice has discovered a new 
method for removing dead limbs from trees, namely — 
trundle a new Ford, preferably one of which you have 
personally had command of only an hour or so, up 
within speaking distance, then point the nozzle 
directly at the heart of said tree. Gaze earnestly back 
at the rear horizon and press the forward lever, being 
careful not to disturb your aim in the process. 

If instructions are carefully followed Maurice 
claims that no dead limbs will remain on the tree and 
probably no lamps or crank shaft on your car. 

Mr. Griffin has already proven his ability in the 
new profession, as one of the land owners about a mile 
north of Dorr’s Pond is willing to testify. 

His friends in the rear seat have decided to learn 
how to fly before Maurice attempts Lesson II in the 
instruction book. 


Should Use Better Judgement 

Chief Healy, of the police department, would do 
well to station a traffic officer at the Granite street 
gates of the company during the time the employees 
are going to and from their work. 

The speed that many of the auto drivers hit up 
coming down the hill, through the crowd of people, is 
something fierce, and some day there will be a bad 
accident unless better judgment is used. There 
have been many very narrow escapes. 


Page 140 


Harry Thaw Was Here 


Harry Kendall Thaw has been in our midst and 
many local people who have longed for a sight of the 
famous fugitive, were given a good chance to size him 
up at the ball game, last Saturday. 

The newspapers have always credited him with 
being ready and willing to play to the gallery, but 
last Saturday he expressed a wish that he might find a 
seat at the back of the grandstand in preference to a 
box. 

“I would rather get where people won’t be staring 
at me,” he said. 

The friendly feeling shown toward him by the 
Manchester people was duly appreciated. He 
expressed pleasure at being present at the game and 
kept a complete box score of the contest. 

His gentlemanly personality and intelligent 
questions could not but help make one wonder why 
anybody could try to prove him insane. 

As I found him, he is a mighty fine fellow and I 
say: “Good luck and a complete restoration to free- 
dom to you, Harry.” 


Two Clever Dancers 

Boucher & Burke sounds pretty good for a 
vaudeville team’s name, doesn’t it? These popular 
young men pulled a Tango turn at the Textile Club 
outing that would do credit to paid performers. 

When they started the dance, everybody forgot 
the other attractions, even the beans, and loudly 
. applauded the dancers. 


Page 141 


Peter Does Not Pay for Publicity 

Byron Pettingill, Jack Carr and Fred Bond, three 
of the Amoskeag’s most prominent bald-headed men, 
have been regular ornaments in the front row at the 
Auditorium every Saturday afternoon, during the 
past few months. 

Big By. broke away from the bunch last Saturday 
and took in the soccer game at Textile Field. He got 
into an argument with Peter Gunderman and accused 
Peter of paying me for keeping his name in the Mill 
Waste column. 

I wish to publicly state that Peter has never 
offered to bribe me in any way. When he tells me a 
story about himself I print it without expecting any 
favors from him whatever. 


Perley Smith Gets His’n 

Perley Smith is slowly recovering from a severe 
attack of seasickness. I am also recovering from a 
severe case of happiness caused by that same dose of 
seasickness. If ever there was a time when I gloated 
over another mortal's misfortune I certainly did when 
I beheld my poor, dear, joke-loving friend Perley 
suffering from the pangs of as beautiful a case of 
seasickness as it has ever been my good fortune to 
witness. 

Sherb Sleeper invited Perley, Clyde Luce and 
myself to go down to York Beach with him to stay 
over Sunday, a week ago, and Perley got into com- 
munication with his fisherman cousin, Bill Smith, and 
made arrangements for us to go out and try our luck 


Page 142 


with the codfish. This Bill is the same one who took 
us out last October and got me seasick. 

Sunday morning, Sherb got us up at four o’clock 
and he had breakfast all ready. We pushed off in the 
boat just as daylight was breaking and I could see 
that they all expected me to repeat my performance 
of the previous trip, but I fooled them. 

Perley proved to be the only goat. I felt fine. 
I had been training my stomach for several days in 
anticipation of the trip and I knew that I would not 
succumb to the dread malady. Sherb didn’t go out. 
Luce kept his eyes straight ahead, not daring to look 
at the bottom of the boat, because it made him kind of 
squeamish, he said. 

We got a pretty good haul of fish, 148 pounds 
of cod and an eighteen pound catfish, besides countless 
flounders and wolverines. It was great sport. But 
to me the greatest sport was in watching the antics 
of poor Perley. 

Perley, after our October trip, had worked 
overtime, spreading the news of my sickness. He 
rubbed it into me for weeks and did not let an oppor- 
tunity slip by to give me a shot about my inability 
to successfully sail the ocean blue. 

My turn came at last and if there is anything 
mean that I did not say to Perley in that boat and 
since then, too, I have been unable to think it up. 

Perley sure was some sick. He entertained us 
for quite a long spell and he was a willing performer. 
He had to perform, whether he was willing to or not, 
and in his endeavors to give us a first-class production 
he brought out everything in his repertoire — and his 
stomach, too. 

How he did exert himself to show us what he had! 


Page 143 


He got rid of everything but the ghastly look. If 
that had been on the inside of his face he would have 
lost it along with the rest. I could not help but rejoice 
for I realized that some good Mill Waste was going 
over the side. 

“Hit ’er up, Perley,” Fd yell at him, and Luce 
would try to sing to keep his own mind off things that 
were happening. I was in my glory. When Perley 
eased up a bit, Bill Smith came across with a little 
anecdote that would start him going again. 

Perley was a sight to behold. Of all the meek, 
tame creatures I have ever seen, he was the one best 
bet. He was so ashamed and crestfallen that he 
would have sold himself for a cent. But he wasn’t 
worth a cent. 

When we reached shore Perley was the first one 
to land and you can imagine his feelings of satisfaction 
when he found the good old earth once more under 
his feet. 

His tameness is still apparent. No longer does he 
lord it over me and poke fun at me for being seasick. 
It is now my innings and you can bet I intend to get 
square for all the things I have been obliged to stand 
for in the past. 

When you meet Perley, ask him how it feels to 
be seasick. Get him to tell you about it. He is so 
pleased with the experience that he will be tickled to 
death to talk about it. 

Dragging the Anchor 

Neil Loynachan and Bert Richardson were 
members of a picnic party at a cottage up the Merri- 
mack river, last Saturday, and while a fine time was 


Page 144 


enjoyed by all hands, these two Romeos are at present 
a little the worse for wear. 

Someone in the party had borrowed a canoe from 
a member of the Cygnet boat club, which was to be 
returned at a certain hour. When the time came 
Neil and Bert gallantly offered to return it to the 
club house and started away from the landing in a 
rowboat with the canoe in tow. 

Neil was at the oars. He did not make much 
headway. He tugged and grunted, with very little 
gain. Finally he called upon Bert for help, so each 
took an oar and worked with might and main. 

After straining nearly every seam in the boat 
and bending the oars almost double with each stroke, 
the hard-working pair finally reached the Cygnet 
boat house. 

It is awful to relate, but these two men, supposed 
to be ex-Colonels in the army, found that they had 
been dragging a forty-pound anchor down the river 
for about a mile. 


Ask Them About It 

Eddie Dunbar and Fred Meharg of the planning 
office, took in the Boston Textile Show with a party 
of friends. 

They espied a sign which gave them an impression 
that there was something behind a curtain well worth 
seeing and at the first opportunity the boys slipped 
away from the rest of the party, determined to in- 
vestigate the attraction. 

You can have more fun by asking them what the 
side show was than if you read it here, so go to it. 


Page 145 


Classified Advertisements 

FOUND — A great place to eat. Hope they have 
more suppers for us. BOY SCOUTS. 

FOUND — That the mill folks can be regular 
actors, even if the right ones are hard to find. NINA 
ANNIS. 

LOST — On the Amoskeag-Beacon game. Every- 
thing but our undershirts. JIM YUILL and PETE 
GUNDERMAN. 

LOST — One hair lip. Suitable reward if informa- 
tion as to whereabouts is furnished to CHING 
McBRIDE, accounting office. 

NOTICE — This is to inform my friends that 
hereafter I can be found during the week ends at 
Derryfield Park. E. THOMAS KIMBALL. 

LOST — A bunch of pansies. Finder please return 
to MISS WINNIFRED LUFKIN, No. 11 office. 
No questions asked and suitable reward. 

LOST — One shoe, at the skating rink, Pine 
Island Park, one night last week. Finder please 
return to IRENE BALDWIN, No. 3 upper weaving 
office, southern division. 


Here Is a Wise Mike 

Mike Fitzgerald says he would not join the 
standing army if he made up his mind to enlist. He’d 
rather take a chance with one of the militia companies, 
because he knows they have a chance to sit down and 
rest once in a while. 


Page 146 


A Night at the Circus 

B’gosh, I went to the Barnum & Bailey circus, 
last week, and had a right good time. I saw a whole 
lot of things that filled me with wonder and surprise. 
I enjoyed looking at and feeding the animals and no 
doubt many of the poor beasts looked at me and 
thought of what a corking good meal I would make 
for them if they got me right. 

I was simply dazzled by the desperately dangerous 
displays of unrivalled aerialism and the daring and 
difficult feats of those entrancing, bird-like creatures 
performing in mid-air. 

The acme of expert equitation and acrobatic 
horsemanship was distinctly reached during the 
stupendous performance and I was held spellbound 
by many astonishingly clever and accomplished 
acrobatic and equilibristic features presented with 
faultless finish. 

I felt happy in the presence of those ludicrous, 
comic clowns, who appeared in numerous highly 
diverting demonstrations of mirth-provoking situa- 
tions. 

The big herd of elephants were great in their 
wondrously wise display of scarcely believable animal 
intelligence. 

What was perhaps the most beautiful and 
bewitching spectacle of the whole evening was an 
impromptu reception held in the animal tent by the 
newly-weds, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Pepler. Bill and his 
bride, wreathed in happy smiles and joyous expressions 
were in the center of a great group of admiring friends 
receiving eager congratulations and good wishes with 
charming grace and thankfulness. 

Bob Leggett was under the canvas, drawn thither, 

Page 147 


so he said, by his grand-daughter, Elva. He was 
positive of his duty to see that the teaming was 
carried on according to the instructions of Neil 
Loynachan. 

When Jim Yuill, Jack Colby and Peter Gunder- 
man appeared before the monkey cage, the jostling 
mass of humanity thereabouts discovered that all 
the animals in the tent had not been put into cages. 

Tip Parker indiscreetly suffered his imagination 
to lead him to believe that circus employees were 
honest men. He accidentally dropped his hat down 
between the seats to the ground and being in a frame 
of mind more desirous of witnessing the show than in 
scrambling for the sky-piece, decided to let it rest 
until the mammoth production had reached the finale. 
No doubt the hat is now travelling with the circus, 
for Tip went home minus his headgear, the same 
having been swiped in the interim, presumably by 
some erring canvasman. 

My little girl, Laura, who was feeding peanuts to 
the elephants, got in front of a big fellow’s trunk, 
just as he let go a beautiful sneeze. Her mother had 
a white dress to wash next day. 

That King of Beasts, the lordly lion, paced back 
and forth in his cramped quarters, acting for all the 
world as if giving a correct imitation of our own 
Perry Dow. The restless activities of the handsome 
beast lacked but one detail to make the reproduction 
perfect and that was the absence of a vest pocket 
into which the lion might have intermittently stuck 
his fore-finger and thumb. If he could have been 
provided with the edge of an automobile seat, upon 
which to sit, the picture would have been even more 
realistic. 


Page 148 


When Dana Emery appeared before the wire 
enclosure containing the giant giraffes, I thought 
there would be trouble, for the jealousy displayed by 
the elongated animals at sight of Dana, was well nigh 
indescribable. 

There may have been other people at the circus, 
but I only had one pair of eyes and anyway I was 
pretty goldurned busy trying to see everything that 
was going on. 


The Plumber Fixed It 

W. P. Straw, superintendent of the Amoskeag 
Manufacturing Company, president of the Amoskeag 
Textile Club, president of the Amoskeag Savings 
Bank, president of the Greenland Village & Atlantic 
Shore Auto- Air Line, part owner of the Nashua & 
Acton R. R. and director in this and that public 
service company, removed the air valve from a radiator 
in one of the rooms of his residence, last week, and 
proceeded to feed fuel to the boiler until it registered 
fifteen pounds of steam. 

He forgot that the radiator was minus the air 
valve and before a piper could get to the house the 
place was a mess. At this writing the insurance 
adjusters have not made a report on the extent of 
the damage. 


They Had a Hard Trip 

Ben Hall and John Cunningham of the southern 
division belt shop, have been busy all summer, trying 
out second hand Ford machines, with the intention 


Page 149 


of purchasing one if the right bargain was offered. 

They finally found what they considered a good 
trade and closed the deal. John elected himself 
chauffeur and many good times were planned. 

They decided to tour the Maine beaches, during 
the shut-down, and invited Bob Struthers and Bob 
Cunningham to go along to act as ballast. 

They found themselves up against considerable 
trouble, for at about every blacksmith shop and 
garage they came across they were obliged to have 
some repairs made, but after several days of coaxing 
and persuading, the party managed to reach Dan 
Smith’s cottage at Wells’ Beach. 

Dan took care of them during the night and the 
next morning, with the help of several experts, they 
succeeded in getting the machine started on the 
homeward road. The old machine bucked and pawed 
the earth considerable, but with more repairs and new 
parts finally wheezed back into Manchester. 

There’s a couple of gum shoe men in town looking 
for them, to collect the toll they slipped up on at 
Kittery. John says he didn’t dare to stop the blamed 
thing on the bridge, because he was afraid it wouldn’t 
start again. 

The following version of the Twenty-third Psalm 
was written for their benefit : 

The Ford is my auto, I shall not want (another.) 

It maketh me to lie down beneath it; it soureth 
my soul; 

It leadeth me in the paths of ridicule, for its 
namesake. 

Yea, tho’ I ride through the valleys, I am towed 
up the hills and I fear much evil; 

Thy rods and thy engine discomfort me. 


Page 150 


I annoint thy tires with patches, my radiator 
runneth over. 

I prepare for blowouts in the presence of mine 
enemies. 

Surely, if this thing follows me all the days of my 

life, 

I will be in the bughouse forever. 


Sleeper Overslept 

Sherb Sleeper certainly lived up to his name, 
last Saturday, when, shortly after the noon hour he 
sat down in a comfortable chair to wait for the proper 
time to hike it to the station to catch the husband’s 
train for York Beach, where his family is stopping for 
the summer. 

Sherb is a regular Sleeper. He says he has been 
a good Sleeper all his life and when he sat down 
behind his whiskers, he just dozed off and did not 
awaken until after five o’clock. It is needless to add 
that he did not go to the beach. 


Not Taking Chances 

Homer Littlefield, foreman of the tenement 
repair department has purchased a new five passenger 
Maxwell. Homer can be seen almost any night 
taking driving instructions on Canal street. 

Last Saturday afternoon, the demonstrator 
endeavored to show his pupil how to turn the machine 
around, but when Homer had the wheel in his own 
hands, rather than take any chance, he turned the 
machine around by encircling the block. 


Page 151 


Invitation to Go West 


All aboard for Keokuk, Iowa! Everybody pack 
up your red bandanna and climb up on the special 
ox team for the wild and wooly west. We are going 
to move! Manchester can no longer expect to reap 
the benefit of having the Amoskeag Manufacturing 
Company in its midst. 

The reason for this important change is because 
of the fact that the local papers, a short time ago, 
printed elaborate stories regarding a small fire in the 
dust shute at No. 11 cloth room. They gave a 
description of the mill and estimated the number 
of people employed there and the boosters of Keokuk 
got busy at once and sent the following letter to the 
company : 


KEOKUK INDUSTRIAL COMPANY 
Keokuk, Iowa. 

0. B. Towne, Manager. 

Aug. 4, 1914. 

The Amoskeag Manufacturing Co., 

Manchester, N. H. 

Gentlemen: — 

Recent telegraphic dispatches make mention 
of a serious loss to your plant by fire. The loss has 
been variously estimated, but regardless of the figures, 
it was bad enough. 

Keokuk, Iowa, would like to extend assistance to 
you. Why not bring your plant to Keokuk and let 


Page 152 


us help you get on your feet again? What can we do 
to induce you to move to Keokuk? 

Yours very truly, 

(Signed) O. B. TOWNE, Manager. 

Greetings, Keokuk! You are a new one on us 
ginks way off east here, and we had to look you up. 
A periodical devoted to such things gives the popu- 
lation of your town as 14,008 souls. Perhaps there 
were many people who moved to Keokuk who lost 
their souls as soon as they struck the town. 

Keokuk! Sounds a great deal as if you were 
calling the chickens. Now why wouldn’t it be a good 
scheme to move your people to this city. Bill Swallow 
will give them positions in the Amoskeag mills and 
it’s a ten to one shot that when they go to work they 
will never see each other again because they would 
get lost in the shuffle. 

I wonder how that extra eight souls happened to 
to drift in. I’ll bet a squash seed against a doughnut 
hole that the town constable raided a freight train 
that was passing through and yanked off some hoboes. 

You wish to know what you can do to induce us 
to move to Keokuk? Then litzen: 

We will think the matter over if you send parlor 
cars enough to accommodate about 16,000 people; 
freight cars enough to transport mills and tenement 
property taxed to the value of $17,000,000 and we also 
insist upon taking about 1500 acres of land which we 
find it would be too bad to leave behind. There’s 
also a few little items such as Textile Field, the 
Recreation Grounds, Children’s Gardens, and Child- 
ren’s Playground that might be missed if overlooked. 

If you decide to move us out there the men folks 


Page 153 


must be given better positions than they now hold. 
Each one of them would be satisfied with nothing 
less than a superintendent's berth and more than 
likely a majority of them will insist upon being agent. 

Let us know as soon as possible when we can 
expect to vacate this city. We would like to get 
settled before next summer because our baseball team 
has cleaned up everything in this neck of the woods 
and we would like to stack them up against some of 
your western clubs. 


Bassett’s Turn Came 

Arthur Bassett thought it was a funny joke when 
one of his men got doused with a pail of water thrown 
from a mill window one day last week. He told Bob 
Leggett about it and enjoyed a fine laugh. 

The next day his gang was working in the same 
place and another pail of water was thrown out. 
This time it was no joke. Arthur got the water and 
got it right. Can you imagine what kind of language 
he got rid of within the next half hour or so? So can I, 
'cause I know what he is capable of. 


Passing Up a Good Thing 

Several business men on the street congratulated 
me on the little item I printed in this column regarding 
the fine space for advertising on the blank wall near the 
railroad station. 

They all agree that it is a fine opportunity being 
passed up by the Amoskeag Company. 


Page 154 


From the Southland 


Anderson, South Carolina. 

June 12, 1914. 

Dear Bill: — Enclosed, find a ticket from your 
mill which I picked up in the street down here today. 
I wish you could see my niggers work. The sweat 
rolls right off ’em. It is 100 in the shade all the 
time. Remember me to the boys. 

ANDREW FISHER, JR. 

The ticket referred to is an Amoskeag Staple 
Gingham style tag, much weather beaten and faded. 
Andy has filled several positions since he left the 
Amoskeag in the lurch, and we now discover him 
driving niggahs. I warn you, Andy, not to fall into 
a pool of that perspiration, for if you do, some of us 
will be walking slowly through a flower-scented room 
softly whispering, “Doesn’t he look natural.” 


A Teeth Grinder 

Dear Bill : — As you seem to be a mine of informa- 
tion, will you please tell me why a person grinds their 
teeth while sleeping? 

CURIO. 

In the first place, dear Curio, who is the person 
who does the grinding for them? We never heard of a 
teeth-grinder. We have a universal food chopper, a 
coffee grinder and a bread mixer at home but a teeth 
grinder is a new one on me. However, to answer 
your question, they problably hire him to do the 
job. Now let me ask you one — why do the^ let him? 

BILL. 


Page 155 



Wanted to See the Fur 


Bill Burlingame is a queer cuss. He is never 
satisfied unless he can pull off some darn fool stunt 
that will get his name into the Mill Waste column. 


Page 156 


He has a faculty, too, of dragging in innocent by- 
standers, sometimes, and altogether it is very pro- 
voking. 

A couple of weeks ago there appeared in the 
local papers an item in regard to a shipment of 
Oregon fir which was to be used in the construction 
of the new bag mill and Bill wanted to see what 
kind of stuff it was. 

Harry Paine happened along about the time 
Bill was making ready to visit the northern division 
and accepted an invitation to look at the new kind of 
“fur.” 

When the pair arrived in Charlie Cross’ land 
they run up against the ever present Perry Dow, who, 
upon learning their errand, very graciously pointed 
out a huge pile of heavy timbers. 

In the picture Supt. Dow is showing his friends 
the Oregon fir. You will notice that Harry’s face 
is turned away, he is so ashamed to think that he 
was roped into the “fur” business. Bill can easily 
be distinguished on account of the hunting license 
peeping out of his pocket. He uses his license as a 
sort of visiting card and also has it handy in case he’d 
meet someone who did not know he was a regular 
sportsman. 

“There’s the Oregon fir,” said Perry, pointing 
with his thumb. 

“No,” said Bill, “we want to see that new kind 
of fur you are going to use.” 

Perry took a second look at Bill and said: “We 
sent it up to Frank Morgan’s barber shop to get a 
shave,” and hopping into his auto went sailing down 
the yard with his left foot hanging out the door and 
a look of amusement on his face. 


Page 157 


A Long Short Story 

Dear Bill: — I had an argument with a friend of 
mine, the other day, as to whether a short man could 
lay in bed as long as a tall man. 

You think you are the big cheese at answering 
questions, so we decided to put it up to you to straight- 
en us out. Do it if you can. 

I. M. SHORT. 

My dear Mr. Short: — When I read the above 
sweet scented note I was inclined to sling it away, 
because of the veiled sarcasm contained therein. On 
second thought, however, I determined to give the 
thing a stab and overlooking your unkind thrust I 
herewith submit for your approval the following 
opinion : 

In the first place you say that there is a difference 
of opinion as to whether a short man can “lay” in bed 
as long as a tall man. What do you want him to lay? 
Bricks, eggs or a carpet? Perhaps you would like 
to have him lay a wager on the approaching world 
series. 

If you mean how long can he “lie” in bed, that is 
another question. You know sometimes a man is 
obliged to “lie” long and fast when his wakeful wife 
tries to get him to explain why he did not reach home 
until nearly daylight. 

Then again, if you mean “lie abed,” that puts 
still another complexion on the face of it as the young 
lady said when she plastered on the makeup. 

Your name is Short. It’s a sure thing that you 
are long in bed if you sleep till noon. How long you 
are in bed depends upon what time you get up. I 
don’t think it makes any difference how tall your 


Page 158 


friend is whether he is as long in bed as you are even 
if you are shorter than he is when you lie down. 
The longer you lie in bed, then so much longer you 
are, in the bed. Do you see? 

Now if your friend’s name happened to be Long 
and he belonged to a long family and he should 
happen to lie long in bed, he wouldn’t be any longer 
in bed than you, that is, if you both got up at the 
same time. 

The longer you longed to belong to the long Long 
family, why so much longer should you lie in bed 
longing. After a long time perhaps you could belong. 

I hope I have made myself clear to you so I will 
bid you so long. 

BILL. 


But What of That? 

Theonegoallgo club members held a social at the 
home of Miss Margaret Conway last Tuesday evening. 
The only event worth mentioning was the fact that 
Miss Josie McDerby was obliged to call for the con- 
ductor and motorman to assist her onto the car 
because of a new hobble skirt. The car was delayed 
fifteen minutes. 


Might Have Helped Some 

Pat Leonard took a dandy shower bath in No. 11 
flannel folding room last week when the sprinkler head 
burst. If he’d had his clarionet with him he might 
have played ‘‘Rippling Waters” with scenic effects. 

Page 159 


Looked Like the Goods 


Last week, when hundreds of Manchester people 
were on the hunt for Miss Fashion and Mr. Style, 
two prominent Amoskeag people were accosted in 
some of the business houses. 

Overseer Clarence Woodbury was challenged 
as he was making a purchase of some feed for his 
poultry and had considerable difficulty in persuading 
the hunter that he was not Mr. Style. 

The enthusiastic citizen who made the mistake 
should be forgiven for his blunder, because Clarence 
surely does look the part at all times. He is a real 
Beau Brummell. 

Miss Mabelle Leckie is the young lady who was 
mistaken for Miss Fashion. It happened to be a well- 
groomed gentleman who thought he had a ten dollar 
gold piece within his grasp and I understand that Miss 
Leckie kidded him along in fine shape. 

This is another case where the blunderer deserves 
forgiveness. He made the statement afterward, that 
he was expecting to find a young lady dressed strictly 
up to date and Miss Leckie more nearly filled the bill 
than anyone else he saw in any of the stores. 


Queered the Jinx 

Over a year ago, in August, I arose to remark, in 
this column, that my good spouse was a Jonah to the 
Amoskeag baseball team. Every time she went to a 
game our boys were defeated. 

The same jinx was on the job this year, early in 
the season, so I hit upon the scheme of shipping my 
family to the beach to see if we could win the pennant. 


Page 160 


They left town on July 1. The charm worked splen- 
didly. 

After losing to the Beacons, 5 to 4, on May 23 
and again on June 27 by a score of 4 to 1, the Amoskeag 
team did not lose another league game until my lady 
of the house returned to town and took in the Labor 
Day games, when they were defeated forenoon and 
afternoon. 

Therefore, it is only natural that when I received 
the announcement that my wife would accompany 
me to the Speed Boys-Amoskeag game, my spirits 
fell. She went and the bloomin’ jinx was right there 
on the job up to the eighth inning. 

This was where we queered Mr. Jinx. Listening 
to my prayers and pleadings and at my earnest 
request, the missus crossed the fingers of both hands 
and away went the Speed Boys’ chances. By thus 
breaking the hoodoo the Amoskeag boys put over six 
runs and won the game. 

The next time she goes to a game with me I’ll 
insist that she must cross all of her fingers and toes as 
soon as she takes her seat in the stand. 


What Goes Up Must Come Down 

F. E. Jewett went up and then he went down. 
He went up when he was appointed superintendent 
of dressing. He went down when he was struck by a 
truck being pushed along by an active employee of 
No. 7 dress room. 

Mr. Jewett tries hard not to show a limp in his 
walk, but the collision has been the cause of several 
visits to the accident department where healing 
lotions have been applied. 


Page 161 


He Fed the Cat 


“Like father, like son” is an old axiom and a true 
one. Clint Dow aspires to travel in his father’s foot- 
steps and, like the Honorable Perry H., he prides 
himself upon pulling out of every squeeze in which he 
finds himself. Occasionally however, he is hemmed 
in on all sides as happened to him recently. 

The story goes that his “better half” (and we 
use the word advisedly) went away for a visit of a 
few days. She had no more than arrived at her 
destination when she remembered the proneness of 
her “lord and master” to forget. So she sent him a 
telegram, “Be sure and feed the cat.” 

Imagine her consternation the next morning 
when a telegraph boy handed her a message. With 
trembling hands and visions of a mangled Clint in 
some premature explosion, she nervously tore open 
the yellow envelope and read the following: “Have 
fed the cat but he is hungry again. What shall I do 
next?” 


Jumped the Fence 

The Onegoallgo club girls held a social meeting 
recently, which very nearly did not take place. The 
reason for this was because the gate at Miss Flora 
Giblin’s home, where the party was to be, could not 
be opened. 

One athletic young lady, however, showed the 
way by climbing over the fence and the rest of them 
followed, some of the girls having considerable 
difficulty owing to — but the evening was delightful 
and the fireworks fairly rent the air! 


Page 162 


Some Ads 


WANTED — To exchange, one fully developed, 
exquisitely decorated, black eye for a broken leg or 
second-hand tenement block. Apply to ROBERT 
LEGGETT, southern division yard. 

LOST — In the wilds of New Boston, on Saturday, 
Aug. 3, one hunter. Answers to the name of Bill 
Burlingame. Iron gray hair on head. White collar, 
with washable tie attached. When last seen at 7.30 
p. m., he was walking toward Manchester. Finder 
please notify HANSON R. ARMSTRONG, Amoskeag 
yard and receive reward. 

INVESTORS ATTENTION— Those who have 
money to invest in games of chance would do well to 
consult me. I can give positive guarantee that what- 
ever sum you have will be invested securely. GIL- 
BERT PAGE, southern division. 


Repair the Flags 

Now that the Textile Club is talking of branching 
out into new lines of activities, it might not be a bad 
plan for them to add an optician department for the 
benefit of those men who have charge of the flags in 
various parts of the yard. 

It does not occur to them that when the first tear 
appears, that should be the signal for having repairs 
made. They seem to think that a little more breeze 
will heal the rip, so they wait until it is torn half its 
length before they send it in for repairs. Apparently, 
there is something sentimental about a tattered flag, 
but it is not economy and it is certainly not patriotism. 
It is laziness. 


Page 163 


He Oiled the Nail Puller 


Emil Pernod of baseball fame is not only some- 
what of a baseball player, but he has mechanical 
tendencies and is of an inventive turn of mind. While 
opening cases in the packing room recently, he is said 
to have oiled the nail puller, presumably to avoid a 
hot box in case he began making speed. Such fellows 
as that are missed when they are gone. 


Should Go to Vermont 

Right from the heart, evidently, comes the 
appeal printed below. It was clipped from the 
column of a local paper and bears silent witness to the 
longings of a lonely man. Here it is : 

IS THERE ANYWHERE on God’s green earth 
an intelligent, true-hearted, pure-minded, clean- 
mouthed woman, who will marry a “homely,” poor, 
hard working man of 40, and help make home? 
“Steady.” Address. 


Could anything be more pitiable? 

You will notice that this man does not insist 
that applicants be pretty of face, with well-moulded 
figure, etc. No, sir! He goes into the higher things 
and demands that she be an intelligent, true-hearted, 
pure-minded, clean-mouthed woman. 

Here’s hoping he gets his wish. Any man who 
has got the nerve to advertise as this one did, belittling 
his own personal appearance, should have the support 
of all fair-minded men. He must be a mighty good 


Page 164 


fellow and deserves the best there is, womanly, in 
spite of his self-confessed short comings. 

I suppose there is only one place on God’s green 
earth where such women are raised, and that is in 
Vermont. If he sees this, the advertiser can take the 
tip and beat it over to Lake Champlain. He’ll find 
the woman of his choice near that lake if there is one 
anywhere. 


Collecting Cobblestones 

Charles A. Newell, the man who deals out the 
supplies in the stock room of the printing office, is 
making a collection of rare and choice cobblestones. 

It is his intention, he says, when he has accumu- 
lated the necessary number, to build for himself a 
nice walk leading to the door of his residence on 
Bowman street. 

Charlie has been diligently plying his quest 
for some time and after some persuasion on his part 
has induced his wife to become interested in the idea. 

There is a consideration connected with her 
apparent enthusiasm, however, for whenever Mrs. 
Newell unloads a rock or two from her handbag, Mr. 
Newell is compelled to dig down into his tobacco 
money and pay over to her one cent for each cobble. 

It would be a funny stunt if some of the kids in 
the neighborhood would get wise to the pile and 
scatter it all over ’Squog, on Hallowe’en. 

Charlie, years ago was a painter, and one of his 
friends was unkind enough to make the remark that 
it was the rock collector’s intention to give the stones 
a coat of black paint and try to make himself believe 
he had a nice pile of coal on hand. 


Page 165 


Went Chestnutting 

Terry Mahoney, Jack Hayes and Ben Cle worth, 
of the southern division went chestnutting last 
Sunday. They report a bumper crop of surly farmers 
armed with clubs and shot guns, and an abundant 
yield of cross dogs. 


Settled Out of Court 

There has been considerable discussion among 
the people in the southern division about the corn 
that Bob Leggett and John Sullivan had on exhibition 
at the Textile Club show, last month. 

Bob says it was his’n because he planted it and 
John says it belonged to him for the reason that he 
claims that he hoed and nursed the plant along until 
nice large ears were plucked from the stalk. 

Big Pete Kosman, though, takes exception to 
Sullivan’s broad claim, disclosing the information 
that he, alone, is the owner of the corn and can show 
positive proof that nobody but himself took care of the 
“garden” on the dump. 

All this comes as a result of a prize ribbon and 
a poor little insignificant American quarter being 
awarded by the judges of the display. 

Bob claims the quarter. 

John claims the quarter. 

Pete claims the quarter. 

Nobody seems to care a rap about the ribbon. 

I hereby appoint myself chairman of a committee 
of one to confer with myself and render a just decision 
on the question. 

I have duly deliberated. 

Know Ye, then, that being as how there were two 


Page 166 


of the aforesaid ears of corn in question, also one 
prize ribbon printed in gold, and again, also, one 
piece of United States coinage to the value of twenty- 
five cents, or in other words a plain every day quarter- 
of-a-dollar, I decree as follows, to wit, namely and 
ad valorem and all the rest of it: 

To him who is of much girth and is named Bob 
shall be awarded one ear of corn. 

To him who is of not quite so much girth and is 
named John, shall be awarded the ribbon, but not 
before it be changed from white to green, because 
the corn was green. 

To him of the Polish faith and strong arm, shall 
be awarded the remaining ear of corn as a token of 
appreciation for his valiant work carried on during 
the summer in the garden of refuse. 

To myself, Bill of the Mill Waste column, whose 
delicate frame needs constant care and proper stimu- 
lant, shall be delivered and consigned at once and 
herewith the aforementioned twenty-five cent quarter. 


Henry, Oh Henry 

I understand that Henry Foss, of the southern 
division, has become quite tame and domesticated 
since joining the great Brotherhood of Familymen. 
Welcome, Henry, to our midst! 

For many years he has been beating the big drum 
and running the business of Walter Jones’ band, but 
now I understand he beats the rugs and carpets and 
helps his wife with the dishes. 

It is also whispered that he can even beat up a 
fruit cake and cover it over with frosting. 

That beats me! 


Page 107 


Where Is Tooton? 


The following conversation was overheard in Perry 
Dow’s gang at the new bag mill : 

“You’ll have to hand it to Germany. She can 
trim England, France and Russia, but the trouble is 
she can’t fix them darned allies.” 

“What I want to know,” piped up another, “is 
where did them Tootons get into this war. I never 
saw Tooton on any war map. Where is Tooton any- 
way?” 

Nobody in the crowd knew where Tooton was. 


Please Have Mercy 

Dear Bill: — I see that you have gone into comic 
opera. Good night, Grandfather! I simply wish to 
inform you that I have been busily engaged in 
collecting a big supply of ripe hen-fruit and there is 
no reason for you to believe that you will not receive 
a warm reception when you appear upon the stage 
in The Mikado. 

Oh Willie, Willie, why do you do it? 

A BUG. 

Dear Bug: — Why do I do it? How do I know 
what kind of dope they used on me, to gain my consent 
to allow myself to be made the target of your rotten 
gibes and eggs. 

Somebody accused me of not being loyal to the 
Textile Club and that to prove my loyalty I must try 
to act like an actor. Heavens! I must have entered 
that state of childishness that everyone gets up 
against once in a while, when they will allow them- 


Page 168 


selves to be led to do almost anything that is ridiculous. 

Was I hypnotized? No, I was kidded. They 
told me I didn’t have anything to do in the show 
and I fell for the chatter. I thought I could do 
that stuff great. 

Come and see the show, Bug, and find out for 
yourself how little I have to do to keep things moving. 

Sh! Listen! I am going to wear tights. Now 
for goodness sake don’t laugh at me, will you, please! 

That Gilbert man wanted me to turn a few hand- 
springs and back somersaults, but I threatened to 
quit and he bore off. 

That Prof. Schiller man wanted me to sing songs 
so fast that I couldn’t speak the words, let alone carry 
the air. Me sing? Why I never tried to sing in my 
life before and I never will again. 

But honest, Bug, please be careful where you 
throw the eggs. There is going to be some pretty 
girls with handsome costumes and the stage will be 
draped with elegant scenery. Don’t make a bum out 
of the thing. 

Promise me that you will have the eggs soft 
boiled. They won’t hurt if they are soft. No, on 
second thought, have them boiled hard, so they won’t 
spatter. 

Please, dear kind Mr. Bug, have mercy. 

BILL. 


Some Teacher 

Joseph F. Myron, of No. 11 mill, gives notice 
that he is at liberty to give lessons in French, English 
Latin and Greek, also on the slide trombone, baritone, 
piano and automobile. 


Page 169 



Peter Gunderman 

Peter is here shown pushing home the prize he 
won at a West Side Theatre, a short time ago. 


Page 170 


Printers and Bowling 

Neil Sullivan, of the southern division cloth room 
bowling team, must have had a catnip fit when he saw 
his merry warriors of the bowling league being shot 
to pieces by the much despised delegation of pin 
tippers from the printing office, last Tuesday night. 

Brought to the front to fill in the gap caused by 
the retirement of the Perchers, the Printers took two 
of the three strings from the great “I ams” and missed 
making it three points out of four by less than half 
a dozen pins. 

Personally, I am for the Printers to throw the 
hooks into Neil Sullivan’s bunch every time they 
meet up in a match. Outside of bowling, I like Neil 
first class, but he could not see the Printers as a 
bowling team possibility, so therefore I am compelled 
to root hard for our boys to beat him out at the finish. 

Go to it lads! 


Harry Saved His Money 

I met Harry Williams on the street, Christmas 
eve, and he was full of business. He said he was trying 
to find a present for his wife. 

A few days afterward he told me that he went into 
about 400 stores and could find nothing, so he went 
home and gave his wife the two dollars and told her 
to go get something herself. 

He said she went out and coming back after a 
while informed him that she couldn’t find anything 
either. 

Harry says it’s a fine joke because he got his 
money back again. 


Page 171 


He Washed the Windows 


Bill Palmer is a night watchman in the southern 
division. Of course when a man is a night watchman it 
means that he works nights. That is, he don’t really 
work. He simply walks around the mills to see that 
everything is in apple pie order and he eats the apple 
pie for his midnight lunch. 

Bill has the whole day to himself and some of 
the time he sleeps — when the youngsters in the 
neighborhood will allow it. 

A short time ago Bill thought he’d get his double 
windows ready to put on and forthwith proclaimed 
himself a professional window washer. He washed 
them, stood them up beside the house and sent for 
the men whose duty it is to attach said windows to 
the places where they do the most good during cold 
weather. 

When the men arrived they were obliged to use 
cold chisels and sledge hammers to pry the windows 
apart. They had frozen firmly together. 

What the neighbors said didn’t jar Bill much, 
but his fellow watchman, Jim Burns, has been rubbing 
it in, in fine shape and consequently Bill is a little 
peeved. 


Both Raising Moustaches 

This is the football season and Billy Mann and 
his fellow loomfixer, Duncan, are having a great time. 
Both have eleven on a side. Bill got first down and 
then Dunkie got his back up and tried to kick. 
Bill’s interference is good, however, and Duncan was 
beaten by a close shave. 


Page 172 


Dana Used to Raise ’Em 


Dana Emery is sure some vote-getter. If he 
can’t land them one way, he will another. Illustrative 
of this point is the following conversation which took 
place last Tuesday noon between Dana and one of his 
constituents whom we will call Jones. 

As Jones was coming out of the voting place he 
accosted the expectant Dana with the remark: 

“Well, I just cast one vote for yer, Mr. Emery.” 

“You did, Mr. Jones? Why I thought you was 
dead set against me? You said as much the other 
day.” 

“Yes, I know I did,” replied Jones. “When you 
was out to my place last week and talked twenty 
minutes about my vote, yer didn’t budge me an inch. 
But after you was gone I got to thinkin’ how you 
leaned over the fence and scratched the pig’s back 
till he jest laid down with the pleasure of it, I made 
up my mind that when a man was so sociable as that 
with a poor fellow-creature, I wasn’t goin’ to be the 
one to vote against him.” 


Nero, the Axe 

Frank Clarke has been on a hunting trip up 
through the north country and while he was waiting 
for the others in the party to drive something his way 
to be shot, he thought out this little squib and handed 
it to me: 

“While investigating the high cost of living will 
someone please ascertain why venison is always deer?” 

You bite him, Fido, my filling has worked loose. 


Page 173 


Three Kinds of Power 


The story comes to me that one of the boys con- 
nected with the messenger force was conducting a 
party of visitors through the mills recently and was 
asked the question as to how many kinds of power 
were used throughout the plant. 

He replied that there were three, steam, electric 
and horse power. 


Looms Had the Grippe 

I always make it a point to read the column in 
the Manchester Mirror devoted to happenings of 
twenty-five years ago and I find many items of 
interest that carry me back to “me boyhood days.” 

One can read of people who had entirely slipped 
from memory and oftentimes an account of an occur- 
rence will appear which sets the mind at work going 
back over the stretch of a quarter of a century. 

Sometimes, very peculiar items slip in and I have 
before me one that reads as follows: “ About two 
hundred looms on the Manchester corporation are 
idle today on account of the influenza.” 

This little item struck me as being peculiar from 
the fact that even as people and conditions change 
so also do the looms. Now you never hear of looms, 
today, being obliged to give up work on account of 
having such things as the grippe or the mumps, or 
any of those petty sicknesses which the poor, weak 
human being is accustomed to contract, at some time 
or other during a lifetime. 

I cannot account for the weak constitution of 
the loom of twenty-five years ago. Perhaps the mills 


Page 174 


in those days were not so well ventilated as they are at 
the present time. Still it might be that they were, 
and the fault lay with the people who left windows 
and doors open and allowed a draught to strike the 
loom. 

Upon making inquiries I find that at the time in 
question there was in use a type of loom known as the 
Witch Engine Head loom. It is possible that these 
looms went out to lunch one day without their hats 
on and contracted a cold in the head, which developed 
into influenza. 

However the case may be, it is a fact that under 
the system now carried on by the Amoskeag Company, 
each loom is given a mustard bath once a week 
during the winter months and great care is taken 
that the weaving machinery is kept in good health 
the year round. 


Jim Was Going to Wait 

Jim Yuill, the waning president of the Common 
Council, never fails to put up his breeziest front when- 
ever he strikes city hall. A few weeks ago he blew 
into the Mayor’s office and asked for His Honor. 

“He just went out/’ replied the genial Park 
Vaughan. 

“Well, I think I’ll wait for him” and the Breezy 
One seated himself in a chair by a window and puffed 
on his perfecto for half an hour. Becoming restless after 
a time, he inquired when the mayor would be back. 

“I couldn’t say,” said the attendant softly. “He 
was going to take the ten o’clock for Springfield when 
he left.” 

Curtain! 


Pag* 175 


And He Is Right 

Tom McCabe was discussing the game of poker 
the other noon and he allowed that many people who 
played really thought it was wicked. 

I agree with you, Tom. The way some people 
play is positively wicked. 


Behind or Ahead 

At noon and night, for the convenience of the 
mill employees, the Street Railway Company has a 
number of cars at the Granite street gates ready to 
convey passengers to all parts of the city. 

Dick Powers is generally the first man to board a 
car, doing all kinds of sprinting stunts to beat out 
Orin Fellows and Clarence Woodbury. 

One day last week, Dick boarded the car in his 
usual mad rush and found that nearly every seat was 
taken. He asked the conductor where the people all 
came from and he received this reply: 

‘TPs lucky the car ahead was behind and this car 
which is behind the car ahead, is ahead, else you 
wouldn’t have been able to get on at all.” 

“Whachasay?” gasped Dick. 

“I said the car ahead is behind and the car behind 
is ahead,” calmly replied Nickles, the conductor. 

“Wh-h — !” Dick started to say something, but 
the car man broke in with : 

“Now then, listen. If the car ahead was behind 
the car behind and the car behind was ahead of the 
car ahead then the car behind the car ahead should be 
behind the car behind. But the car behind the car 
behind was ahead of the car behind, so the car ahead 


Page 176 


of the car behind was behind instead of ahead. That’s 
why these people were here before you.” 

When the car reached Dick’s street they carried 
him out on a stretcher. 


Oscar Took the Hint 

We don’t know whether the little suggestion 
that was thrust to Oscar Cram’s lot up country a few 
weeks ago, was instrumental in causing an Aurora 
Borealis to luminate his reasoning organs, causing 
him to slip a sparkler to the lady of his choice, but 
we know of something that occurred which must 
have been a valuable incentive to the follower of 
Dan Cupid. 

During a Xmas family festival the aforesaid 
Cram was presented a wedding certificate with a ring 
attached to a white cord. Owing to the effect, and 
the rapid development of affairs since, it is thought 
that something dawned upon him which had not 
dawned before. 

But she is a Sweet girl, Oscar. 


Sympathy for John D. 

I read in the papers a few days ago that a sub- 
stitute had been found for gasolene that would cost 
only a cent and a half a gallon. 

Good night, John D! 

If you find it hard sledding, ' during the winter, 
John, come and see me, and I will give you a job helping 
Mike Fitzgerald and Captain Tasker wash printers’ 
rollers, with some of the new fluid. 


Page 177 


A New Use for Paper Bags 

Mike Fitzgerald went to Concord, one day last 
week, upon an invitation from one of Manchester’s 
progressive law-makers to visit the state house and 
other places of interest in the capital city. 

Mike had a fine time and after a stay in the legis- 
lative chamber he went to the state hospital. He 
makes the statement that some of the men he listened 
to in the state house should have been confined in the 
daffy house instead of being left at large to inflict 
their presence upon the likenesses of some of the old- 
timers hanging in the corridors of the “law foundry.” 

A visit to the prison has made Mike more than 
ever determined to tread the straight and narrow 
path and the chilliness of the place leads him to suggest 
that the prisoners do as he does in cold weather, viz: 
Wear paper bags on the feet during the night to keep 
the tootsies warm. 


There’s Some Difference 

The inalienable right to change the mind is not an 
exclusively feminine perogative, and that circum- 
stances alter cases is also a fact which is undebatable, 
because incontrovertable. 

In support of this philosophic statement I will 
offer an explanation and a sample case (not a drum- 
mer’s.) 

For a year or more Ed Brophy and Bill Spring 
maintained and supported an ironclad boycott on the 
Park Theatre. They were not secret and underhanded 
about it, but they openly, publicly and on the slightest 


Page 178 


pretext, took all and sundry into their confidence and 
explained why was such. 

They fulminated and exploded on the least 
provocation and placed the Park in the category of 
places to be avoided, even as the plague or a golf link. 

Where it fitted as a theatre was to them incom- 
prehensible. The seats were uncomfortable. You 
couldn’t see the stage after you were seated. 
It was an upstairs barn. It was — well, everything 
that a theatre shouldn’t be, and they waxed indignant 
and even became profane when they thought — which 
they frequently did — of the folly and incompetence 
of our city fathers in allowing the place to be used at 
all. 

But about the twentieth of last December they 
experienced a sudden change of heart or mind, or 
maybe it was form, but anyway they reversed their 
decision on the Park theatre. Why not? The 
supreme court has been known to reverse decisions. 
E-yup! 

Every Monday, since the date named above, 
has been a red letter day, and the evening one of rare 
and unalloyed pleasure for Bill and “Cap.” 

They telephone to each other and make up a 
theatre party and the Park is the Mecca of — (not their 
cigarettes) just their Mecca — read history. 

Though on other nights, when they attend the 
Auditorium, “Cap” wears the blase air of a Parisian 
boulevardier and Bill assumes an air of boredom which 
might be envied by a British nobleman, yet at the 
Park they are as excited and pleased as two kids who 
have just been equipped with Indian suits and air 
rifles. 

“Cap” Brophy is the authority on embonpoint 


Page 179 


and symmetrical development, and Spring, of course, 
from his long acquaintance with the clipper-ships 
which were once the pride of our merchant marine, is 
the expert on graceful lines and trim builds. 

Their seats are always down in front in the rows 
which are sacred to domes of thought destitute of 
vegetation. They are always provided with a box 
of twenty-eight cent chocolates and two pairs of opera 
glasses. 

Last Monday night, Bill, on taking his seat, 
discovered to his horror and dismay that he had left 
his opera glasses at home. Here was a heart-rending 
state of affairs. He and Brophy couldn’t keep 
swapping one pair all night; the one who didn’t have 
them would be sure to miss something. 

“Cap” fortunately remembered that there was 
always a pair in George Steele’s sanctum, so an usher 
was given a dime and told to hustle down to the office 
in the Elks’ block and borrow the glasses. Bill was 
very fidgety and uneasy until the usher came back 
with the goods, but after that he enjoyed himself 
hugely. 

They both claim now that any manager who will 
bring two burlesque shows a week to the Park will 
be hailed as a public benefactor and a man of high 
ideals and they both stand ready to aid such a man to 
the extent of four tickets (down in front, please) a week. 

Bill and “Cap” don’t pretend to know much 
about what is considered “good form” in the higher 
circles of exclusive society but they are surely qualified 
to pass on what is good form in a burlesque show — 
either among the principals or the chorus. 

And now can any little boy or girl tell me what 
they would call this case? Is it a change of mind, 
heart or form. 

Page 180 


She Had a Spade 

I was playing whist a few evenings ago, at a 
house party where four tables were in operation, and 
among the players was a blonde young lady, who 
showed every symptom of being green at the game. 

After a time I reached the table where she was 
confined and during the progress (?) of the hand the 
second round of hearts was played. The blonde girl 
commenced to hunt through her cards and someone 
asked if she did not have a heart. She answered the 
question by taking another long, long look. 

Finally, someone pointed to the heart which had 
been played and said : 

“Have you a card like that?” 

She waded through her cards a couple of more 
times, taking occasional glances at the card on the 
table to make sure she did not forget the shape of the 
spots and then replied: 

“I — Tve got one in the black.” 


He Didn’t Want Blisters 

I followed the orchestra and band business for a 
dozen years or more and saw some funny stunts pulled 
off by musicians, but I nearly fainted when I blew in 
at a rehearsal of the Textile Club orchestra and beheld 
Rob. Richardson sawing away at a bass fiddle with 
one of his hands encased in a huge glove. 

“Why the boxing mitt?” I asked him. 

He replied that the strings hurt his fingers, but 
assured me that when he was on a regular job he 
tackled the darned thing with his bare hands. 


Page 181 


Joe Is Getting Active 

Joe O’Neil, former chief of the southern division 
fire department, now holding a franchise in the 
Nappers’ league, over in No. 11 cloth room, had the 
scare of his life Saturday before last. 

It seems that Joe occasionally has a few dollars 
and he carries it in his overalls, either because he don’t 
trust the fellows he is working with, or because he 
wants it handy if anyone wants to borrow some. 

Well, on the day in question, Joe shed his work 
clothing and made for home when the whistle blew, 
just the same as 15,000 or more other persons did on 
that day, and when he was about to tackle the corned 
beef and cabbage he thought of his roll. 

He beat it back over to No. 11 about as fast as any 
fat man can go when he is in a hurry, and found to 
his joy that the money was safe. He was a good deal 
out of breath, but it was nothing compared to the 
hustle he put on when he accepted the invitation 
to the colored wedding on Hanover street. 


New Requirement for a Fireman 

One day recently, a party in a certain hospital 
telephoned to the Amoskeag Company to help them 
out by sending a fireman to look after the boiler. 
A man supposed to be competent was sent up, but 
late in the afternoon a telephone call came in for the 
superintendent of the power department. 

As soon as he could be located he went to the 
telephone and was told that the man who was sent 
up was not satisfactory because he could not milk 
the cow and would he please send up another man. 


Page 182 


Frank O’Brien Some Spendthrift 

While the children’s gardens, during the summer 
time, is a place of beauty, at this time, when the 
blustery and swirling winds of March are blowing, 
it seems to be a graveyard for hats, as the genial Frank 
O’Brien learned to his sorrow. 

Frank attended the concert given by the Dunbars 
and on his way home, when just opposite the City 
alleys an extra strong gust lifted his hat over the fence. 

As Frank is rather corpulent he decided not to 
attempt the impossible, but went to the pool room 
opposite and asked some of his young hopefuls of the 
Amoskeag Juniors to come to his assistance, but they 
all pleaded as an excuse that they were too busy. 
The only alternative remaining was to go home and 
awaken one of the young O’Briens, of which there are 
a legion. 

After some difficulty Frank recovered his hat 
and just to show those present he was no tightwad 
he dug down and rewarded his offspring with the 
generous sum of one cent. 


’Twill Be Tough Roots 

There is considerable consternation manifest 
throughout the corporation in regard to the possibility 
of closing Massabesic lake to boating and fishing. 

John Parkinson is tearing his hair and burning 
up “tucks” at an alarming rate in his discussions of the 
beastly proposition depriving him of his favorite 
sport, pout fishing. And him with a fine new motor 
boat, too. 

Herb Sails sheds tears of sorrow, for he has visions 


Page 183 


of no more week-end parties at his farm in Auburn. 

Chief Joe O’Neil bewails the fact his Slab City- 
visits must end. 

Never again will Bill Burlingame be given an 
opportunity to steal another man’s smelts. 

Hans Armstrong’s Saturday afternoons will now 
be spent driving about with the family. 

Vince Allard’s nose will miss the blister that 
fishing always produces. 

Mel Davis will be obliged to give some other 
excuse, now, when purchasing “bait.” 

Louis Swanson and Bill Anderson can spend some 
of their Sundays in the company of the family circle, 
while Frank Bernard will just simply mope around 
and wish himself to death. 

Walter Walsh will convert his floating palace 
into a bungalow and install it on the Hooksett Pin- 
nacle. 

Judge Dana Emery, who acts as guide for amateur 
sportsmen, can no longer ply his trade. 

John Sullivan will patronize Newton’s, now, more 
than ever he did before, only when he buys fish he 
won’t dare say he caught them at the lake. 

There are many others, too, who will be given 
an awful jolt if the water board determines to carry 
out the proposed idea of banishing boats and fishing 
from the beautiful sheet of water. 

Is Also a Disturber 

Harry Bixby is showing symptoms of having 
public speaking and singing ability, the only trouble 
is that he doesn’t know when the proper time arrives 
to show off his superiority in these lines. 

Page 184 


They All Galloped 

Lured by the tales of the enormous amounts 
of money to be made by catching shiners and selling 
them to anglers who delight to fish through the ice, 
Terry Mahoney, of the southern division, induced 
his friend, Dan McCarthy, the inspector of checklists 
for ward four, to embark with him in the shiner 
catching industry. 

They hitched Dan’s horse into the pung one frosty 
night and made a start in their new line of business. 
Their equipment consisted of an axe, two large milk 
bottles, two ropes and two big dish pans to hold the 
captured shiners. The scene of their venture was Ray 
brook, which they conjectured must be swarming 
with the shiners of commerce. 

The men hitched the horse to a tree and conveying 
their apparatus to the frozen surface of the brook 
began operations. They got one hole chopped after 
a half hour of arduous labor, and started on a second 
when they broke the handle of the axe. 

Then they tied the rope around the neck of the 
milk bottle — which bottle was liberally loaded with 
cracker crumbs — and lowered it into the shiner infested 
waters. They looked for results but none resulted. 

Finally, McCarthy laid down at full length on the 
ice in order to peer down into the hole and ascertain 
if possible, the reason for the strange diffidence and 
aloofness of the pickerel bait. Mahoney in the mean- 
time did the tango, fox trot and other pedal exercises 
to keep his feet from freezing. 

The shivering horse was stamping and whinnying 
up on the road and things were brought to a climax 
when a freight engine let out a weird and long-drawn 
whistle. The frightened equine reared and plunged 


Page 185 


and in his struggles broke the hitch rope. Then he 
started on a mad gallop for home, and the rattling 
of the two big dish pans on the bottom of the pung 
broke the slumbers of a number of our north end 
social leaders. 

When Mahoney heard the clatter of the pans and 
the horse's hoofs he galloped up to the road in 
pursuit and his gallop was much madder than that 
of the horse. McCarthy, who had been stretched at 
full length on the ice beside the hole, also heard the 
ominous clatter of pans and hoofs and essayed to rise 
hurriedly, but he found that his garments had become 
so closely affiliated with the ice that he could only 
get to his feet by the sacrifice of several samples of 
“Bill My Tailor’s” niftiest goods; but when, after 
a heart-rending series of ripping, tearing sounds, he 
did free himself, he, too, started on a gallop after the 
horse, and his gallop was the maddest of all. 


Ira’s Familiar Face 

The Mirror recently printed a picture of my old 
friend Ira Davis and gave a very interesting writeup 
in the Familiar Face column. 

The writer, however, neglected to state that Ira 
attended Sunday School in Tom Rob’s slaughter 
house, over in ’Skeag, and that it was there he learned 
a great many things. 

Now, I remember Ira when he was on the police 
force and when he was coming down the street with 
his big night stick it was hard to tell which was the 
stick. They both possessed about the same amount 
of fat. 


Page 186 


With Apologies to Miss Page 

Dear Bill I have a friend who says that parrots 
are good to eat. Can you tell me how to cook them? 

HUNGRY IKE. 

Dear Ike: — I had hard work to make out your 
letter. I got along all right until I came to “parrots/’ 
or “carrots,” I couldn’t tell which it was, but it looks 
more like “parrots” so I am giving you the proper 
recipe for making parrot pot pie. 

First off, strangle the parrot and cut out his 
appendix and stuff with dressing, consisting of the 
following formula: Chop a peck of green onions with 
a pair of suspenders and smother with a poultice of 
mortar, then tie it up in a green sock. (It is better 
to use a sock that has not been worn more than two 
weeks). Pack tightly and sew with green thread. 

Let it repose in the oven (hot) until feathers are 
singed, then lather the bird with green soap and shave 
its neck with a safety razor. 

After shaving, sprinkle the bird with insect 
powder and use lather as a gravy. When done, serve 
in buckets. 

This is without charge. 

BILL. 


What Part of the Body 

I was reading a paper, the other day, and came 
^cross an article which stated that a certain woman 
had her chimney straightened and topped out. 

It kind of staggered me, for I do not know just 
what part of the anatomy is called the chimney. Can 
anyone give me the information? 


Page 187 



Here Is Jack Cuddy 

I am presenting for your approval an almost 
life-sized picture of Jack Cuddy. This picture was 


Pagt 188 


drawn by a man who has, in the past, shown a 
great deal of interest in Jack's theatrical experiences. 


Just Like a Mother Would 

Overseer Henry R. Dickson is a great baseball 
fan and his little boy always accompanies him to the 
Saturday games, seeming to get as much enjoyment 
from the sport as does his fond parent. 

The other day, the youngster had been eating 
several of the good things dispensed by the boys in the 
grandstand and when the finish of the game drew 
near Mr. Dickson took a slant at the lad to see if he 
was in a presentable condition of cleanliness. 

Without saying a word and in a manner perfectly 
unconscious to public scrutiny the father hauled out 
his pocket handkerchief and proceeded to give the 
boy as thorough a spit wash as any mother could do. 
When he had finished his labors his heir had a clean 
face, anyway. 


A Chance For Herb Sails 

The cotton mills in Massachusetts have been 
served with a notice that they must immediately 
comply with the provisions of the “Kiss of Death" 
suction shuttle law. 

This should be good news to Herb Sails, for it is 
well known that he has perfected a vegetable shuttle, 
in fact, raises them every year on his farm over in 
Auburn and if the crib is well stocked he now has a 
chance to dispose of them at a good profit. 

Do you care to take in a pardner, Herb? 


Paff* 189 


Adam’s Apple Troubles Him 

Tom McCabe, formerly of Lowell, but just now 
earning his living as a ruling machine operator in 
the Amoskeag printing office, is having considerable 
trouble with his Adam’s apple. He asserts that if he 
can ever get his teeth onto it, he surely will eat it up. 

The most trouble is brought about when he tries 
to shave. The operation is generally successful, 
barring a few gashes, until he reaches the before 
mentioned Garden of Eden fruit and then things 
happen. 

The pesky thing just won’t remain stationary 
long enough for Mac to scrape away the hirsute 
adornment. Just as he is about to apply the razor 
he always has to swallow and away goes the apple. 
It chases around his neck a few times and when it 
finally returns to its proper place he gives it another 
try. Same thing happens. After several futile 
attempts Mac finally gets a full nelson hold on Mr. 
Adams’s apple and succeeds in subduing and taming 
the blamed thing while he performs his tonsorial act. 

McCabe allows that self-shaving would be a 
pleasure if it wasn’t for the trouble he has with the 
apple and with his upper lip. His lip is so sensitive 
that the razor tickles and makes his nose and eyes 
run and throws him into violent fits of sneezing. 


Always Too Busy 

Ed Heath (Who has just returned from Califor- 
nia) “Did you ever see oranges growing?” 

Perry Dow — “No I never had time to stand and 
watch them.” 


Page 190 


You Can Bet I Know 


f 

Dear Bill: — I see you are entered in the Union- 
Leader automobile contest. What do you know 
about an automobile? If you win can you run it? 

SAXFORD. 

Sir: — If you only knew how many miles I have 
driven an automobile in my sleep, during the last two 
weeks, you would never ask such foolish questions. 

I guess you think I don’t know anything about 
an automobile. Well I do, and to prove it to you I 
will recite a few things about one I got acquainted 
with some time ago. 

I was introduced to this particular machine 
about sixty miles from Manchester and before the 
acquaintance had terminated I made up my mind 
that it was the longest sixty miles I ever traveled. 

If there ever was anything that could happen 
to a machine that didn’t show up on this one, during 
the trip, then I don’t want a vote. 

We were from nine o’clock Sunday morning, 
until 1.30 o’clock Monday morning, coming that 
sixty miles, and what with the thermometer at about 
110 degrees during the day it was anything but 
pleasant. That pesky machine was the most un- 
reasonable darned thing I ever saw, because when 
things happened we were always about a mile and a 
half from a shade tree. 

That auto had punctures, blow-outs, loose parts, 
bum engine, carbureter on the blink, had to feed in 
water every two miles, broken spring, colic, rheumatism 
and spinal meningitis. 

But we had a corking good chauffeur. Didn’t 
get mad once. If I had been him, I would have taken 

Page 191 


a wallop at that old wheezy trap and given it a knock- 
out for fair. 

We had a helova time, but don’t tell me I know 
nothing about an automobile. 

When the one I’m going to win gets into the 
condition that old junk heap proved to be, I’ll turn 
it out to pasture and let it end its days in peace — 
not in pieces. 


He Couldn't Resist 

Years ago Maggie Mitchell, or maybe it was 
Lotta, starred with great success in a comedy called 
‘‘Little Barefoot.” But we hasten to inform those of 
his friends who may chance to see Herman Thompson 
tripping gayly along o’er the stones and broken 
bottles in his bare trilbies any time during the spring 
or summer, that Herman does not contemplate 
starring in a revival of the sterling drama we have 
alluded to, for this exposure of his pedal extremities 
will be due to a higher and nobler motive. 

When you have heard the inspiring story you 
may change your mind about sending those old shoes 
to the suffering Belgians and donate them to the 
worthy Mr. Thompson. Herman went to Boston 
recently with a ten dollar bill tightly clutched in his 
good right fist, and it was his intention to invest it 
in a good serviceable pair of shoes and a sufficiency 
of stylish hosiery to last till the end of the war. 

But as he neared Raymond’s — er — well no — the 
shoe store of class, patronized by the elite of the 
Back Bay, where he always buys them, he saw a sign 
in the window of a shop devoted to the sale of canned 


Page 192 


music, and the sign read, “Every Record Ever Made, 
For Sale Herfe.” 

Now Herman has lately added to his household 
furniture the finest electric victrola in captivity. 
None better was ever captured in Darkest Africa or 
the wilds contiguous to the River of Doubt, so Herman 
stood for a moment irresolute, and then art and culture 
won over sordid sentiment and creature comfort. 

He went in and invested his ten plunks in records, 
and Wagner, Verdi, Mozart and Beethoven away up 
yonder in the High Heaven of musical art smiled a 
cheering smile. But their smiles won’t buy shoes for 
Mr. Thompson. 


Over the Waves 

Billy Grocock, Jimmie Yuill and Peter Gunder- 
man form a trio of harmony Singers that is hard to 
beat and as they are all overseers of weaving they 
plan to make their trips together to and from the 
cloth rooms. 

Last Friday, they were crossing the bridge from 
No. 11 mill, puncturing the air full of holes with 
soulful melody, when Pete’s hat blew away and sailed 
majestically down the river. 

Mike Connors, who has quite an ear for music, 
says the trio immediately burst into the strains of 
that old familiar song, “Over the Waves.” 

Tom O’Neil makes the statement that, when 
the hat was finally rescued, near the North Weare 
bridge, it contained two full-grown suckers and he 
sent them to Maurice Michelson as reminder of the 
day when he carried home the bundle of “sewer trout.” 


Page 193 


Matches Wouldn’t Light 

Speaking of “Safety First/ ’ Carlena Savory, the 
charming secretary of the Woman’s Textile Club, 
was staying at a summer camp the other Saturday. 
When her visitors were leaving some one presented 
her with a box of safety matches. Well, later on it 
grew dark. 

She rubbed one on the stove, 

She rubbed one on the wall! 

She rubbed one on the sink!! 

She rubbed one on the floor!!! 

She rubbed one on the frying pan!!!! 

She rubbed one on the nutmeg grater!!!!! 

She rubbed one on the can opener!!!!!! 

She rubbed one on the canary’s cage!!!!!!! 

She rubbed one on the sewing machine!!!!!!!! 

She rubbed one on the door mat!!!!!!!!! 

She rubbed one on the piano!!!!!!!!!! 

In fact she rubbed one everywhere but on the 
box. The next day she told the donor his beastly 
old matches were no good. 

Morgan Was Alarmed 

Overseer E. A. Morgan, while laughing at a funny 
April fool story, recently, about a jack-knife being 
nailed down to the floor, swallowed a tooth. It was 
an old molar which had been wiggling around for 
quite a time in Ed’s mouth, and the vibrations of 
merriment had loosened the tooth and he was sure 
that he had noted its passage through the esophagus 
and that he could now feel it nestling somewhere in the 
vicinity of the pylorus. 

Laughter turned to fear as his friends gathered 


Page 194 


around him and told of the dangers which a tooth 
lodged in the system was liable to cause. 

Some recommended that he put his feet higher 
than his head and others suggested the absent treat- 
ment, the X-Ray, the mustard plaster, the slaughter 
house and Billy Sunday. 

But while they were giving him an osteopathy 
treatment in the back, it suddenly occurred to Ed 
that the tooth was gold-filled, so he quickly betook 
himself to the office of Dr. Bartlett. 

Now while the doctor was preparing to attach a 
stomach pump in an heroic effort to dislodge the 
missing grinder, the telephone rang. 

“Is this Dr. Bartlett?” came over the wire. 

“Yes,” answered the doctor. 

“Is Mr. Morgan there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, tell him that we have found the tooth on 
the floor,” and Eddie drew a long breath and recovered 
his equanimity at once. 


Jimmy Smyrl Got Twisted 

At the Textile Club concert in the Franklin street 
church, last month, Jimmy Smyrl, who is always head 
usher at the club functions, approached an Amoskeag 
official and politely, but in a weak voice, said: “Sir, 
shall I show you to your seat?” 

“What’s that?” quickly replied the gentleman, 
throwing Jimmy into confusion by the suddenness 
of his words. 

“I said,” came back Jimmy, “shall I sew you 
to your sheet.” 


Paot 195 


/ 




Thought He Had Pudding 

Curt Blanchard and one or two friends went to 
the Chinese restaurant to blow themselves to a feed 
the other night and among the several side dishes 
brought in by the almond-eyed waiter was a portion 
of mashed turnip for each of the hungry printers. 

It was noticed that Curt did not touch his until 
after he had cleaned up the rest of the feed and then 
pulled his saucer of turnip into place and prepared 
to make an assault upon it. He took one taste, and 
making a wry face gasped out : 

“Gee, I thought that was pudding.” 


Doesn’t Like The Dark 

Jerry Sullivan, the dead game sporting man who 
pours oil on the troubled shafting in Dick Galvin’s 
room, is often compelled to work overtime, laboring 
far into the stilly night, even unto the ninth or tenth 
hour. 

He was telling an interested listener how he dreads 
to have the lights turned out before he has had a 
chance to make a change of raiment at the end of his 
long day, and described an experience which befell 
him one night recently. 

His day’s work was done and he had removed his 
working clothes, leaving his lower limbs in a state of 
statuesque nudity, when the lights went out, and 
then one of those big roaches, taking advantage of the 
darkness, started to promenade along one of Jerry’s 
plump (?) props. 

There was some squirming and slapping on Jerry’s 
part for several shuddering seconds and the adven- 


Page 196 


turous roach made spiral circuits of Jerry’s lower 
limb until that gentleman was on the verge of a 
nervous breakdown. 

Finally a lucky slap put an end to the perigrina- 
tions of His Roachship and Jerry then stood still 
to allow the cold sweat to run into one puddle so as to 
make it easier for the scrubber in the morning. 

“Gee!” he said, “it was the biggest roach that ever 
was hatched!” 

“How much did it weigh?” asked the listener. 

“It must av weighed four pounds if it weighed 
an inch,” answered Jerry. 


Here Is a Mean Man 

There are some men who are meaner than dirt, 
but an Amoskeag electrician pulled a stunt on the 
day Ringling’s circus showed here, that certainly 
takes the bun — in fact he should be handed the 
entire bakeshop. 

This particular mean man lives outside the 
city, some distance, but he arranged to have his wife 
and several kids come to town to see the parade. 
He met his folks according to schedule and after 
allowing them to feast their eyes on the beauties of 
the passing show, he then personally conducted them 
to the children’s playground, where the little ones 
had the time of their lives — for a time. 

The electrical fellow stayed with the outfit until 
noon, when he went up street and bought himself a 
good warm dinner, while the rest of the folks enjoyed 
a substantial meal on the remnants of a bag of pop- 
corn. 

How is that for meanness? 


Pact 197 


The Wind Blew 


They were talking about some of those fierce 
wind storms we had a few weeks ago, and Fred 
Chamberlin cross-countered with this solar-plexus jab: 

“Yes,” he said, “you fellows think you had some 
wind around your locality but you ought to be over 
my way, on the Lake Boulevard to see, feel and hear 
some real wind. Why I have metal numbers on my 
front door, and they were secured to the wood by 
prongs an inch long, but may I be eternally deprived 
of Golden Bantam corn, if the wind didn’t blow one 
of those metal numbers off the door. 

“Yes, sir! And if you don’t believe it, I can 
show you that same number right on my door now, 
where I nailed it back again after the wind had 
subsided.” 


Nearly Had a Field Day 

The men of the yard department have been 
having a strenuous time during the past several weeks 
keeping the racks leading to the water wheels clear of 
debris and all kinds of rubbish and garbage is pulled 
out and carted away. 

Monday morning, the men at work in front of 
the filter building fished out a half barrel all tightly 
bunged and apparently full of the amber liquid which 
some people claim generates good cheer. 

Bob Leggett was happy! He stood guard over 
the keg nearly all the forenoon and told his gang of 
“stenographers” that he would engage the Recreation 
Grounds for Saturday afternoon and they could have 
a field day, with the keg as the principal “guest.” 


Pagt 198 


But the “stenogs” apparently did not take much 
stock in their boss’ declaration. The first time Bob 
turned his back the gang swiped the keg and hid it 
down near the hosiery and later tapped it. They 
found to their horror that it contained nothing but 
pure river water and with disgust pitched it over the 
bank. 

Bob Leggett threw a fit! He accused the gang 
of drinking the contents of the keg, and the grouch 
he’s been lugging ever since would make a hunch-back 
out of a wooden Indian. 

It was a cruel disappointment. 

The Senator Slipped 

Have you heard the story of the young lady 
whose gentleman friend called upon her and was 
informed that she was upstairs taking a bath, and 
how he was very anxious to see her and sent up word 
to slip on something and come down stairs for a 
minute, and how she slipped on a piece of soap and 
came down? 

Mike Ahern had about the same experience a 
few days ago. He went into the bath room to take 
his daily dip and when ready for the plunge he stepped 
upon a bar of soap which had been accidentally left 
upon the floor. In the attempt to save himself from 
injury he crashed against the door which opened 
suddenly and Mike shot out into the kitchen attired 
in his birthday suit. 

The Senator said a few prayers and other things 
for the benefit of the one who left the soap on the 
floor, but outside of numerous bruises and barked 
shins he came out of the accident in perfect shape. 


Page 199 


Harnessed Up Wrong 

Fred Hardy, who has worked for the Amoskeag 
Company for nearly forty years, evidently neglected 
his education in so far as horses are concerned. 

He was observed by the writer to drive a dandy 
little undersized horse from Maple street into Lake 
avenue, Sunday, and made a graceful turn in front 
of his home, landing close to the curbing nice and 
handy. 

A friend came out of the house and looking the 
rig over suddenly remarked: 

“Say Fred, you’ve got the breast-plate on upside 
down.” 

Fred gave a surprised look at the harness and 
gasped, “By Jinks, so I have.” 

Both men then went to work and adjusted the 
mistake, whereupon the diminutive animal in the 
shafts took on a more comfortable looking expression. 


Got Presents Just the Same 

About the time that Messrs. H. S. Van Ingen 
and L. V. Giles, of the New York selling house, were 
receiving the congratulations of their many friends 
upon the arrival of a son and daughter, respectively, 
Mr. and Mrs. H. A. Miles were celebrating the first 
anniversary of their wedding, and Mr. Miles was 
the recipient of many little gifts which would be 
more useful in the household of the first named 
gentlemen than in Mr. Miles’ home. 

The members of the office force, apparently, 
could not let the occasion slip by without giving him 
some gentle reminders, hence the aforesaid gifts. 


Page 200 


Wouldn’t Ring Off 

William Howe keenly appreciates wit and humor 
and is a great booster for the practical joke. He 
has read all the funny stuff that Mark Twain, Josh 
Billings, Bill Nye and M. Quad ever wrote. He is 
still devouring George Ade’s work and can even 
laugh, if he’s feeling extra good natured, at the 
effusions of John Kendrick Bangs. But there are 
limits to his love of the laughable. 

The other morning some hard working but 
clumsy and thick headed wag came along and pushed 
in the buttons of the two electric bells on Mr. Howe’s 
house and carefully inserted pins beside the buttons 
so that they might continue to keep the bells ringing. 

At 2.30 a. m., the whole Howe family was 
awakened by the tintinabulation of the wildly 
tinkling bells and it wasn’t until about 4.15 that they 
discovered the trick that had been played upon them. 

Mr. Howe will donate all his back numbers of 
the Bingville Bugle to the joker if he finds him out, 
also a few good swift kicks as an extra premium. 


Nearly Lost His Train 

Joe Provost went to Boston on the Fourth of 
of July and had a great time at the ball games and 
in watching the taxicabs skid around. At the close 
of the afternoon ball game he boarded a car with 
the intention of riding to the North Station, but he 
landed away off in South Boston. 

After considerable maneuvering he managed 
to locate the station just in time to catch the last 
train up. 


Page 201 


This Is a Small World 


George and Charlie Hagberg, two chevaliers 
from No. 11 mill, went to Revere Beach where they 
met two fair vacationists to whom they posed as the 
Count and Baron Hagberg of Svenskalund. They 
brought the broiled lives and planked steaks, took 
in the Pit and the Scenic and did all those things in 
keeping with the nobility. That was a year ago. 

Last week the summer vacationists, who, by the 
way, were Manchester girls, visited the mill, and as 
they observed George and Charlie at their usual 
vocation, threw up their hands and exclaimed 
with surprise. “Why, there’s the Count and Baron.” 

My, you ought to have seen George and Charlie 
duck. They say this country is not near so big as they 
thought it was. 


Jim Is a Handy Man 

James Forrest, the male attendant at the child- 
ren’s playground, in addition to looking after the 
older children, last week, cut the hair of 21 youngsters 
whose parents would not pay a barber for the work. 
Mr. Forrest performed the work free of charge so that 
the children may keep clean. 

Jim makes a mighty good man for the playground 
position and besides barbering, landscape gardening, 
razor honing, cobbling, minding a couple of hundred 
children, and other daily duties too numerous to 
mention, he also is an adept at fancy work. 

He made some hand bags that are a work of art 
and he is justly proud of them. Ask him to let you 
see them. 


Page 202 


Classified Ads 

BOWLERS WANTED — Anyone, male or female, 
who can bowl a little bit, wanted for No. 11 Cloth 
Room team. Apply to BILLY BURKE. 

FOR SALE — As I always fat up in the winter, 
I will swap some over ripe meat for an equal amount 
of lean. See PHIL ENGLISH, southern division 
cloth room. 

EXCHANGE — I will exchange five broken eggs 
for a few choice cuss words. Communicate with 
AUBREY McININCH, No. 11 cloth room. 

WANTED — A good watch. One that I will 
not have to set every time the whistle blows. Apply 
to JOE LINEN, southern division. 

WANTED — About one square foot of asbestos 
to make a pocket for my overcoat. I find that the 
pipe I used to keep my cigar butts in has ceased to be 
useful and I wish to try a new method of preserving 
my 9-40-9 ’s. Address EVERETT P. GLEASON, 
southern division. 

WANTED — Someone to furnish me with one 
cigar each day as an incentive to bring me out in the 
sunshine during the noon hour. Contributions 
received by THOMAS J. O’NEIL, pipe store room. 


Stock Went Up 

Some of the people at the main office are trying 
to figure out why Amoskeag stock went up two points 
the day Howard Russell left word that he would not 
be at the mills for two days. 


Page 203 



Bill Won The Union-Leader Contest 


Page 204 


The Man With Nerve 

Arthur Le Lacheur came to Manchester from 
Lowell and since he has been among us he has not 
lost an opportunity to tell what he could do in all the 
branches of athletics, in drama, musical comedy, 
comic opera, dancing, fishing, rowing, flirting, in 
fact, there is nothing, according to his say, in which 
he does not excel. 

He has been shown up on several occasions, but 
his baseball stunt with the Amoskeags, at Franklin, 
was the limit. The praise he bestowed upon himself 
as a player of great repute won for him a tryout, and 
he was taken along with the team two weeks ago. 

Did he make good? Yes, he did — not! 

Joe Holcomb and Chucky McCarthy claim he 
did not even know how to put on a uniform, while 
Jesse Lamorey swears that he didn’t know the 
difference between a baseball and a chest protector. 

But anyway, he was tried out — and as usual, 
was found wanting. 

Wanted the Real Thing 

Ralph Page tells this story about his little girl, 
Marion. It seems that Mrs. Page wanted to go out 
for a few moments, the other evening, and she told 
Marion to be a good girl and go to sleep, whereat 
Marion put up an awful howl. 

4 ‘Why, I am surprised,” said her mother, “that 
you are afraid to stay here alone in your soft, pretty 
bed, even if it is dark. You know God is here and you 
have your doll. ,, 

Marion answered, “Well, I know God is here and I 
have my doll, but I want something with skin on.” 

Page 205 


Invention Almost Good 


Phil Provencher is not as great an inventor as 
Edison, Morse, Marconi, the Wright Brothers, 
Lydia E. Pinkham and some other fellows — that is, 
not quite as great — but the other day he partly 
completed the most ingenious invention that he has 
invented since his last previous invention. 

This last epoch-making creation of Phil's fertile 
brain is a contrivance for stretching a six and seven- 
eighths straw hat enough to make it fit a seven and 
a quarter head. The invention is now complete 
except for one trifling matter which will sooner or 
later be worked out. 

It is an ingenious arrangement of wooden blocks 
which are pressed into the straw hat by gentle taps 
of a sledge hammer, or by having a very large, robust 
man stamp them in by foot-power. Upon its trial 
trip the invention worked perfectly up to this point 
but having got thus far it was found impossible to 
remove the blocks from the hat. 

By no means known to modern science could 
they be stirred from the firm embrace of the straw 
hat's encircling sweatband. 

Jack Weddig suggested the daring expedient of 
bisecting the hat with a sharp razor, removing it 
then from the blocks and having it neatly sewed up 
by a competent seamstress. But Phil was afraid 
that the seam might show if some skeptical, scientific 
sharp subjected the hat to a microscopic examination. 

Charlie Daignau came forward with a proposition 
to subject the wooden blocks to intense heat, arguing 
that the heat would cause the blocks to shrink and 
then the hat might be easily separated from them. 

But Phil brusquely brushed aside Charlie's 


Page 206 


expedient, pointing out the well known scientific 
axiom that very intense heat has the effect of making 
straw rather brittle. So the inventor is stumped — 
for the time being — but he is confident that he will 
yet bring his invention to a state of absolute per- 
fection. 

Of course, owing to the brain fag resulting from 
the mental exertion incident to his labors on the first 
stages of his invention, Phil will be obliged to rest 
and recuperate for several weeks. But Jack Weddig, 
whose brain is fresh and unfatigued, is concentrating 
his intellectual faculties on the problem and is con- 
fident that he will evolve a satisfactory solution if 
the Giants can only keep out of last place. 

Mr. Provencher, remembering the litigation over 
the telephone patents, has not sent the blue prints 
and specifications of his invention to the Patent 
Office because he fears that some rascally official 
might steal his idea and sell it to some unscrupulous 
financial interest. 

Like all really great inventors Phil is extremely 
modest. When asked if he expected to be decorated 
by foreign governments or potentates in recognition 
of his contributions to science, he said: 

“No sir, if there’s any decorating, some local 
firm will do it.” 


He Meant All Right 

One of the overseers handed me the following note 
which was sent in to him by one of his employees: 

“Mr i think i haf sta out las weak my wif she 
been sick al nex weak i come soon las weak sure you 
kep my job til las weak you my frind.” 


Page 207 


Some Trouble With Hats 


If Webster had defined hats as flying machines 
or parachutes instead of a covering for the head, he 
would have been more correct according to Adam 
Lenz. Adam accompanied a party of loomfixers 
to Lawrence a week ago and while watching the trees 
and fences go by the train, he lost his hat out of the 
window. 

When he arrived in Lawrence he quickly dove 
down into his jeans and produced the price of another 
head covering. The party then went into a Lawrence 
Ritz Carlton to procure some food and while there 
someone purloined Adam’s hat and coat from the hat 
tree where he had placed them. His friends then 
quickly came to the rescue and bought him another 
with an elastic on it. 

On the way to the station a sudden gust of wind 
took this new hat and the street sprinkler ran over 
it. He was then given a yachting cap and after 
reaching Manchester some one knocked the cap off 
and Adam, too discouraged to pick it up, went home 
without one. 

One of the party was mean enough to make the 
remark that it was lucky he wore a belt. 


Had a Wild Ride 

On the 17th of June, John Keough, of the 
southern division, hired a big touring car and with 
a party of relatives and friends speeded down to 
Newton, Mass., to attend the wedding of a cousin. 
The party included Jack Linehan, a loomfixer who 
works on the gingham in the southern division, Pat 


Page 208 


Sullivan, a dresser in the southern division, Bill 
Kennedy, who works for the Hoyt Shoe Company 
and Jimmie McCarthy, a timekeeper in the 7-20-4 
shop. 

The trip down was made in a torrential rain and 
after they had seen the happy couple off on their 
honeymoon the Manchester party steered for Boston 
to see the sights. They saw several, including the 
Palm Gardens and Revere Beach. They started for 
home some time during the night and then they 
began to notice that the chauffeur was not only 
exhilarated, but he was illuminated to an extent that 
made the illumination seem dangerously near the 
proportions of a conflagration. 

Barney Oldfield was a poor, chicken-hearted 
creature, when compared to that chauffeur. He knew 
not fear. Neither stone wall, telegraph pole nor sharp 
curve dismayed him. It was the anniversary of the 
battle of Bunker Hill but none of those old Revo- 
lutionary heroes who survived that conflict ever had 
half so many hairbreadth escapes as did Keough’s 
party. In comparison, the midnight ride of Paul 
Revere was commonplace and undeserving of notice; 
Sheridan’s ride was a slow, tame trot, and beside 
the imprecations they hurled at the chauffeur, Little 
Phil’s lurid language would have seemed refined and 
ladylike. 

But the language had no effect on the brilliantly 
illuminated chauffeur and soon fear, deadly fear, 
weighed heavily on the hearts and minds of that 
erstwhile merry bunch. Half forgotten prayers 
began to be recalled and huskily mumbled. All the 
dark spots on life’s troubled pages began to assume 
the form of enormous blotches of inky blackness. 


Page 209 


Whether or not their fervent prayers had any- 
thing to do with it none of the party will venture to 
say, but just this side of Reed's Ferry, serious engine 
troubles developed and the wild, nerve-racking and 
piety inspiring ride came to an abrupt termination. 
With drawn, haggard faces, feverish, sunken eyes, 
teeth that still chattered a little and large numbers 
of gray hairs that were not noticeable twenty-four 
hours previous, the weary bunch of wedding guests 
were plodding painfully across Granite bridge just 
as the city hall clock was chiming the hour of five 
a. m. 

Of course, it would ordinarily be far less tiresome 
to ride up from Reed's Ferry than to hoof it, but 
there are times when a man feels that he needs exercise 
and a chance to reflect and ponder on the amount of 
space he would be given in an obituary notice. Life 
is sweet and funerals are expensive. 

That whole crowd now believes sincerely in the 
doctrines of guardian angels and the efficacy of 
prayer. How else would you explain their presence 
among those who may still go to the movies, is their 
argument. Next time they go to Boston it will be 
the steam cars or the trolley for them. 


The Lincoln Pennies 

I received a query requesting information in 
regard to why the U. S. pennies were called “Lincoln 
Pennies" and why Lincoln's likeness was stamped 
upon them. 

I must confess that I hardly know, but it may 
be that a man named Lincoln is the manufacturer 
of the coins. Hence, the reason. 


Page 210 


Has One Good Ankle 

The boys from the planning office and their 
wives — those who have wives — held a picnic last 
Saturday at Pinnacle park. The women folks ar- 
ranged luncheon which was served in the grove beside 
the pavilion. 

The 100-yard dash was won by Pillsbury with 
Meharg second. G. Nicholas Manning, the man who 
claims to do 100 yards in 12 1-2 seconds was hopelessly 
beaten by the field and could only offer the same old 
excuse: “Ankle gone bad again.” 

This race settled a much disputed argument, 
as to running ability, between Manning and Meharg. 
Meharg says he was putting his shoes on when 
Manning finished. 


Appendicitis Club Formed 

There has been an appendicitis club formed in the 
printing office. Joseph T. Petit is president, Curtis 
Blanchard, secretary, and Mike Fitzgerald, treasurer. 

It is the duty of the president to examine into 
the physical fitness of applicants for admission to 
membership and to preside over the meetings of the 
club. 

The secretary must endeavor to collect the dues 
and attach his official stamp to the membership cards 
and keep a correct record of all meetings. 

The treasurer’s duties are very limited. He is 
supposed to have charge of the funds, but it is doubtful 
if he ever is obliged to open a bank account, because 
anyone who has been under an operation, making 

Page 211 


him eligible to join, will never have money enough 
to pay his dues. 

Whatever money a member has will go toward 
the purchase of automobiles and gasoline for the 
surgeon. 

The membership card will consist of a preserved 
appendix, duly signed and sealed by the secretary. 

This is a really jolly club, for anyone wishing 
to join must prove that he is a regular “cut-up.” 

The password is “ether.” The surgeon adminis- 
ters the password and then you pass out. 

The present members are much pleased with 
the club and state that when the by-laws are com- 
pleted the entire list will be given to the public. 


They Forgot the Tide 

Bailey’s beach for frills, Palm beach for bills, 
but Well’s beach for thrills, my dear! This sage 
observation has been jolted out of us by the hair 
raising — well no, not hair raising — hair wetting 
experience of a young lady who works in an office in 
the southern division. It wasn’t Mary McIntyre, 
but you could easily stretch a cud of gum from 
where Mary works to where the heroine of this 
veracious tale earns her daily stipend. 

Our heroine — as we may well call her — accom- 
panied by a large retinue of ladies and gentlemen 
attached to various office forces throughout the yard, 
were scattering their wealth around Well’s beach 
with a lavish hand, and other forms of sport having 
lost their charm, some one proposed the highly 
exciting and nerve jingling pastime of clam hunting. 

Now clam hunting doesn’t sound so very dan- 


Page 212 


gerous or seem so very romantic when compared with 
stalking the tiger or battling the shark, but it has its 
dangerous and romantic phases, nevertheless. 

They started out armed with their tin pails and 
spoons and guaranteed to bring back a sufficient 
number of the succulent bivalves for a regular Rhode 
Island bake. The tide was out and they wandered 
away off toward Europe and began operations on a large 
mound that seemed as if it might be the lurking place 
of a ton or two of clams. 

They dug and dug! Occasionally they bagged 
a clam and our heroine had nine in her little pail when 
somebody noticed the increasing abundance of 
Atlantic ocean. The tide was running in and a large, 
sloppy assortment of wavelets separated them from 
Well’s beach. 

The passengers of the Titanic displayed no more 
panic — no poetry intended. What was to be done, 
wait for a life boat? 

“No,” said our heroine, “there mightn’t be 
anything for the life boat to save. Wade ashore.” 

There was much weeping and wailing over the 
damage to very chic costumes, but there was nothing 
to do but follow our heroine’s lead, and she, holding 
her shoes over head with one hand and her little pail 
of clams in the other conducted the party safely 
through a half mile of water which reached to the 
armpits and landed them all on the sands of Well’s 
beach. 

Well’s beach has considerable sand but not nearly 
so much as the young lady whose praises we sing. 
One young man in the party held his briar pipe up over 
his head and left his package of fine cut in his pocket. 
A fine example of holding your head under trying 
circumstances. 


Page 213 


Wouldn’t Do It Now 

In the Union of May 30, 1863, appeared the 
following item : 

“Last evening the steamer Amoskeag visited 
the residences of several of our citizens, and gave 
their gardens, trees, &c., a good sprinkling, which was 
generally needed.” 

It is very doubtful if the fire department appara- 
tus could be used for such purposes, nowadays, and 
would be wholly unnecessary, anyhow, this season, on 
account of the great amount of rain that has fallen. 
They were pretty good to the citizens in the old days. 


Some Strawberries 

Herman Reuter says he is going to have some 
strawberries this year, that will be real ones and intends 
to preserve them whole and exhibit them in the Textile 
Club fair next September. 

He claims he raised some last year that measured 
eight inches in circumference, without stretching the 
tape. He does not state, however, whether they were 
in the box when he measured them. 


Speech for Sale 

Phil Provencher has a perfectly lovely presenta- 
tion speech for sale, written in a plain hand and 
guaranteed to suit the most fastidious person. 

It is said that the reason he has this speech on 
his hands is because Perley Smith jumped in and beat 
him to it when the time came to present the diamond 
ring to Harold Smith. 


Page 214 


The Bloomer Girls 


A party of girls who work in No. 2 burling room 
have formed what they call a Bloomer Girls’ club. 
The object is to go on hikes, the first of which was 
up to Pinnacle park, Sunday, July 18. 

They all w~ear bloomers and their weights range 
from 75 lbs. to 207, and they are some hikers. 

The names of the girls, according to their weights 
from 207 down the line are: — Mildred Leppert, 
Eliza Gleavin, Louise Chouinard, Mary Hanney, 
Cecelia Hanney, Lena Noreen, Grace Cameron, 
Mary Waters and Nellie Keane. 


The Man With the Hoe 

Douglas Still has been away for some time and 
he gave out the information that he had been on an 
extended trip in an auto through Maine. 

From other sources, however, comes the report 
that he had been filling an engagement hoeing potatoes 
up in the Aroostook county section. 

His friends are wondering if he intends to spend 
the August vacation harvesting the crop. 


Trying to Get Fat 

Dana Emery has been the butt of so many jokes 
of account of his lack of meat that he has tried a new 
and novel scheme to make himself believe that his 
weight is increasing. 

He went into Nelson’s five and ten place the other 
day and tried to double his weight by sticking two 
coppers into the slot machine at the same time. 


Page 215 


Suffering Gold Fish 

Frank Bodkin will have Clarence Sargent after 
him if he isn’t careful. 

I understand he went on a trip to Pittsfield during 
the recent cold snap and shamelessly neglected his 
gold fish. 

When he returned he found them all frozen stiff 
in the globe. 


Speaking About Coal 

The Industrial Commission reports 510,000,000 
tons of coal mined last year. That surprises me. I 
thought it would be far greater than that. 

I have been burning coal for about four months, 
this winter, and I’ll bet a dollar I have sifted more than 
that many tons of ashes. 


Perhaps He Is Heavier 

Charlie Welch, of the Coolidge lighting station, 
has been having a hard time, lately, with the mumps. 
Charlie weighs 220 pounds in his stocking feet, but 
his friends are wondering how much additional weight 
the mumps caused. 


Fashions Change 

They are teaching the fox trot and the one step 
at Sing Sing. How the styles have changed. No 
prison with any standing in society now thinks of 
teaching the old fashioned lock-step. 


Page 216 


Horse Was Stolen 


Charles Fraser, millwright foreman, lost his horse, 
one night recently, and then found him again safe and 
sound. 

It seems that just before parading time on Elm 
street, Charles hitched his horse to a post and left the 
rig in order to do some tradin’ in several of the stores. 
When he returned the whole shooting match was gone. 

He was loaded down with bundles and looked 
like a caravan camel and was smoking a big black 
cigar which resembled a policeman’s night stick and 
smelled like a fire in the picker room. 

But here’s the good news. Charles’ milkman 
lives out on the lake line and when he saw the horse 
and team belonging to one of his customers being 
driven away by a disreputable stranger he gave chase 
and got the outfit, but the thief escaped. 

You can bet the owner of the team was pleased 
to get it back and Tom Slattery says Charles was 
so glad he kissed the horse on the nose. 


Will Sell Cheap 

Fred Bond made the trip to Lake Sunapee a 
week ago in his $50,000 limousine. It took him all 
day and part of the night. 

He started from Manchester on Sunday morning 
and got back Monday night — late. He left the 
machine up near Pembroke and came into town via 
the electrics. 

Those high-priced cars sometimes do cause 
unhappiness. 


Page 217 


Signs Would Help 

I was standing on Granite street, near the Amos- 
keag Company’s garage, last Saturday afternoon 
and in the space of about five minutes two autos 
stopped and occupants of each inquired if I could tell 
them what factories these were on each side of the 
street. 

This circumstance led me to think that it would 
be a mighty good thing if signs were erected as is the 
case at the counting room and at the foot of Central 
street. There is a fine chance to display signs over 
the gates and it would be a source of information 
to a great many tourists who pass through Granite 
street. 

It also brings to mind again the fact that a big 
amount of valuable advertising space is going to waste 
on the blank wall of the southern division coal pocket 
opposite the Boston and Maine R. R. station. Here 
is a chance to show statistics that would amaze a 
multitude of people every day. These things help to 
keep the wheels turning. 


Learning New Tricks 

Gee! You can learn something every day of your 
life if you only make up your mind that you can be 
taught a few things. 

I was fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to be 
invited to have supper with a very good friend of 
mine, a week ago last Saturday, and the invitation 
was supplemented with extraordinary statements of 
the great amount of baked beans and other good 
things that would be actually thrown away if my 


Page 218 


party of four did not remain to help eat them up, 
so of course we accepted. 

The lord and master of the house was carefully 
measuring the quantity of beans to a helping and 
when he had nearly completed his task, he suddenly 
looked at his wife and said: 

“M. I. K?” 

She turned several shades of red, then answered: 
“I’m not sure. F. G. S.” 

This same dialogue occured when the milk was 
passed and neither host not hostess used sugar or 
butter. The brownbread was served in small pieces 
and after a person had asked for the second helping 
in order to find out what the taste was, he wouldn’t 
have nerve enough to ask for the third piece. 

Several times this “F. G. S.” signal was flashed 
out from either end of the table, but it was some time 
before I found out what all these letters meant. 

You can have the benefit of what I learned, for 
it may come handy in the near or far distant future. 

“M. I. K.?” More in kitchen? 

“F. G. S ” Family go slow. 

I felt mighty guilty in going into a man’s place 
and eating him out of house and home and I really 
think I deserved to get stuck in the mud and be forced 
to submit to being shoveled out after such a mean 
trick. 


She Might Help Some 

Miss Mary Ryan, of No. 11 south lower weaving, 
has started an aquarium on a small scale. She already 
is the proud keeper of four gold fish and a small trout. 
Why not put Mary on the fish and game committee? 

Page 219 



Rudolph Schiller in Action 





Professor Rudolph Schiller 

An excellent likeness of the man who is directly 
responsible for the great success attained by the 
Amoskeag Textile Club musical section. Mr. Schiller 
is now starting in on his third year as director of the 
glee club and orchestra. 


A Disappointing Condition 

The Washington Star says that the statesmen 
at the national capital are enjoying an exceptional 
season of skating. 

On the surface it has been very easy to see that 
these men were not attending to business, but it is a 
tough proposition to even presume to think that they 
would get a “skate” on. Right in public, too. 


Smoking Green Turtles 

Harold Hovey’s friends were much surprised 
to see him smoking so many cigars and couldn’t figure 
out how he could afford to do it. 

They set a watch on him and it was learned that 
he is investing in Green Turtles at the outrageous 
price of three for a nickle. 


At the “Fed” Day 

The following paragraph is printed exactly as 
it was sent in: 

Waldo Gilmore was hit by the ball in the mouth 
over at the Folder’s Feel Day last Saturday. He 
didn’t loose any teeth because he didn’t have any. 

Page 221 


Didn't Treat Him Civil 


Bill Cheever, Neil Loynachan and Joe Doyle are 
having a good laugh on Overseer George Pierce. 

George drove his car in which the above named 
Boy Scout masters journeyed over the proposed line 
of march planned for the hike and Tuesday night 
they stopped at a hotel in Plymouth. 

After leaving the party at the hotel entrance 
the very generous auto owner drove his machine 
around to the garage. Upon his return to the office, 
the clerk, in a very haughty and condescending 
manner, told George that he believed the gentlemen 
of the party would like to have him stop at their 
rooms for a minute. He did not even offer to send 
a boy to show him the way. 

George was somewhat peeved over being taken 
for a “mere chauffeur” but as the incident sunk in 
he laughed along with the rest of the bunch. 


Cap’s Little Troubles 

Cap Morrill, the genial clerk at the employment 
chiffonier almost sold his Packard car last week. 
Cap has been troubled of late regarding the disposition 
of his auto for he felt that during the winter months, 
he would be unable to spin through the suburban 
villages, first, on account of the auto’s dislike for rough 
roads and secondly his Dear Friend’s timidness for 
the cold crisp wintry air, especially when she was not 
provided with the fur garments that are usually worn 
by autoists in the winter time. 

Tuesday, of last week, an intended purchaser 
called on Cap and requested one more demonstration 


Page 222 


of the machine before separating himself from his 
money. Cap willingly consented, stating he would 
take Mr. Purchaser to his home in Franklin. He also 
intended to stop at Bow where he knew that two coon 
skins could be purchased which he intended to use 
in completing a coat for his sweetheart. 

It was agreed that Cap would make the trip to 
Franklin as outlined and if the car proved what he 
represented it to be, the Franklin man would pay the 
price agreed upon. 

Barney Oldfield, in his palmiest days, never bent 
with more pride on a steering wheel than did our friend 
Cap. Hooksett was passed in record time and the 
Pinnacle was fading in the distance. The traffic police 
of Suncook were passed safely and Bow Junction 
appeared on the horizon. 

In order to get to the farm house where Cap 
intended to purchase the coon skins, he was compelled 
to make a detour of some eight miles from the state 
road and through some swampy woodland. The poor 
old shell of a machine had done its duty and as they 
were rounding a curve in the roadway smash goes the 
right front wheel. The car lurched up against a tree 
and Cap and the Franklin man were precipitated over 
the wind shield, landing — well, never mind where. 

After some time had elapsed the Franklin man 
picked himself up, and looking at little Cap with 
disgust, he said: “Men who have done less than you 
have done are now doing time. Good day, Mr. Gold 
Brick! I see where I saved my roll. 

Cap looked at the retreating form of his former 
guest, then at the wreck of the Hesperus and sighed. 
Defeated in his business venture, but undaunted in 
courage, he hiked the remaining miles to the farm 


Page 223 


house where the coon skins were awaiting a purchaser. 
Fortune favored him on this occasion for he made a 
good trade for the skins and arranged by phone with 
a local garage to come to his assistance. Help arrived 
after many hours difficulty being met in locating the 
geographical spot where Cap had met his fate. The 
rescuers found him sitting close to the remains of his 
machine lamenting its destruction. 

The several parts of the car were finally gathered 
together and with Cap once more sitting in the saddle 
the party wended its way to this city and as they 
came through Elm street spectators gazed on the 
battered hulk of the old tub wondering if the Allies 
had started ructions in New Hampshire. 

Cap is very much decided on one point and that 
is that there will be no more demonstrations of his car. 
Any would-be purchaser must take Cap’s word for 
the worth of the machine. 


Swiped His Garden Truck 

About this time last year, or perhaps it was a bit 
later in the season, Bob Leggett lost a cabbage which 
he had been nursing along in his front yard. Bob was 
mad when that happened. In fact he nearly busted 
the buttons off his vest, he was so swollen with pent- 
up emotion. 

Now he’s mad again. The present fit of anger is 
caused by the disappearance of several very large 
heads of cabbage from his own private garden — down 
yonder. 

Bob is beginning to think that he is unlucky as a 
cabbage raiser, but there is a great deal of satisfaction 
in knowing who purloined the goods. Eh, Bob? 


Page 224 


He Dragged His Feet 

A story has just come to light having to do with 
the erection of the new bag mill in the northern 
division. Perry Dow hired a college youth to labor 
during the summer vacation and the new hand was 
put to work on one end of a cross-cut saw. The other 
end of the saw was in the hands of a seasoned veteran 
and Bill Burlingame’s Oregon fir was rapidly being 
converted into floor timbers of the required lengths. 

The college man held his end very good the first 
day, but before the second day had finished he was 
just about all in. His back ached, his hands were 
blistered — in fact every move was a pain. 

Just about the time things were beginning to 
dance before his eyes he was startled to hear his 
companion slowly remark: 

“Say, young fellow, I don’t mind your ridin’ 
on this saw, but I wish you’d keep your feet off the 
ground.” 


Practicing the Old Songs 

Burt Craig, Martin Loughlin, Charles Long and 
Nick Fitzgerald, of the southern division, have jointly 
purchased a tent and all the necessary camping 
equipment and will spend the vacation period on the 
shores of Mosquito pond. This is why they practise 
so assiduously that good, old chorus, “Tenting 
Tonight on the Old Camp Ground.” 

They won’t have to burn any smudge to keep 
the mosquitoes away — their vocalizing will do the 
trick thoroughly. It may also keep human visitors 
away. 


Page 225 


Cameron’s Mixups 

Raymond Cameron, a prominent member of the 
Amoskeag Juniors, accompanied by two friends, 
went to Boston on Labor Day, with the intention of 
seeing a baseball game, looking the Hub over and 
returning in the evening. 

While watching the ball game between the Red 
Sox and the New Yorks, Cameron was overheard 
discussing the ability of “Rabbit” Maranville, whom 
he thought was playing short stop for the Red Sox. 

Pretty poor baseball knowledge for a supposed- 
to-be ball player and a member of the Amoskeag 
Juniors. 

After the game, Cameron, who was leading the 
party, looked up a time table to see what time they 
would have to leave the Hub. Either he became 
bewildered from his day’s trip in a big city, or possibly 
he didn’t know the difference between a. m. and p. m., 
for he mistook a. m. for p. m. and lost the last train. 

Everybody hopes that he has learned the differ- 
ence by this time as it is rather tiresome to ride home 
on the paper train and get to work the same morning. 


How About Harry Hawkins? 

Mme. Schumann-Heink is credited with having 
made the statement that every child born to her has 
added another tone to the already wonderful range of 
her voice. 

What I am wondering is, how does the advent 
of children in Harry Hawkins’ home affect his voice. 
’Arry now has six little ’Awkinses about the house and 
he is singing in great form. 


Page 226 


Didn't Know the Boys 

Edward “Spotter” Wade, the old-time ball player, 
sprinter, wrestler and acrobat, whose biography was 
printed in this paper some time ago, is a native of 
Franklin. “Spotter’s” various activities do not 
permit him to see many ball games, but the last time 
the Franklins played here he determined to see the 
ball tossers from his native town battle with the 
Amoskeags. 

“Gosh!” he said, “I cert’ny oughter know all, 
or most all o’ them boys. When I left Franklin, I 
cal’late I knowed ev’ry man, woman an’ child ’n’ 
ev’ry hoss, dog, chicken ’n’ cat in town.” 

So he went down to the game. He eagerly 
scanned the faces of the bunch of former Manu- 
facturers’ leaguers who wore the Franklin uniform, 
and his expressive features soon gave evidence of his 
deep disappointment. 

“Gosh!” he confided to a friend, “thar must ’a’ 
been a lot o’ new fam’lies moved intuh Franklin since 
I left it twenty-six years ago. I don’t know a darn 
one o’ these boys.” 


It's a Good Scheme 

Herb Alston visited a neighbor one night last 
week, accompanied by his wife, to play whist. He 
and his partner received a fearful drubbing and it 
affected him so bad that he had quite a fainting spell. 

Brandy was produced and he finally came to 
himself. His host is now wondering if Herb pulls that 
stunt when he thinks he needs a little nourishment. 


Page 227 


Meaning Not Quite Clear 

“Find man who saw Jones murder auto.” — 
Headlines in daily paper. 

Coming from a metropolitan newspaper, I took 
it as it read and looked below to see why Jones 
murdered this particular car. 

I know of many a car that one would be justified 
in annihilating and took a selfish glee in anticipating 
the details of this story. But, sad to relate, no devil- 
wagon had been decently murdered, pleasing as it 
would be to all harassed pedestrians. 

It was simply an example of poor headline 
composition, which is an art in itself, but, in this case, 
came near to being a murder of the art. If the Bulletin 
ever puts out such a bum headline as this, I hope its 
friends will take the editors out some dark night and 
drown them. 


The Winner’s Auto Trip 

Chairman Frank R. Vose, of the agricultural 
committee, is once more a shining star. While he has 
gained many laurels as head of the committee which 
conducts the children’s gardens, and successfully 
engineered the Textile club fair, yet those who had 
the pleasure of being in the party taking the auto 
trip with the garden prize winners have decided that 
he shines in even a greater degree of efficiency as pilot 
and manager of a personally conducted tour. 

He left nothing undone for the comfort of the 
party, looking after every little detail in a manner 
that was thoroughly appreciated by all. 

While there was one or two incidents that 


Page 228 


happened which appeared to nearly topple over his 
serene attitude of composure, yet, when he beheld 
the big, wonderful Vermont creamery controlled by 
the Hood people, his face was indeed a study. 

He expected to find a mammoth place which 
would make the Whipple Farm in New Boston seem 
insignificant compared to it. His consternation and 
chagrin were indeed pitiable when he learned that 
he had practically passed through the yard without 
recognizing the place he sought. 

But we saw A separator and A churn and several 
pounds of butter. The building was of a size which 
brought forth this remark from George Pierce: “Fat 
as I am, I’ll bet a pint of gasoline that I can clear it 
in two jumps.” And I guess he could. 

George can do a great many things well and he 
had a very able lot of assistants in his car. Bill 
Achilles proved himself to be a wonder at disappearing 
when his help was sought in times of trouble and 
distress. 

Henry Montgomery narrowly escaped becoming 
hunch-backed lugging around a smile that refused to 
leave his beaming countenance. 

Maurice Griffin was a star actor manipulating 
the water bucket for a steaming radiator — but sh? 
I must put on the soft pedal, for the Hudson steamer 
was not the only water boiler on the trip. 

Henry Robinson was lost in Woodstock, but 
after the police and fire department had about given 
up the search for him he was located in a hothouse, 
having fallen into a trance caused by the beauty of a 
specimen of curled bagonia leaf he had discovered. 

William Twaddle put in considerable time 
watching Herman Thompson’s car. He refused to allow 


Page 229 


it to start without him and at that he rode faster than 
he would in either of the other two machines. 

Arthur Kimball was seasick. At least he appeared 
that way Sunday. However, he said it was caused 
by too much smoking, not being used to regular men’s 
cigars. 

Herman Thompson, in his quiet way, with many 
suggestions of possible financial embarassment, con- 
tributed fifty-seven varieties of consternation and 
alarm to run up and down the spinal column of the 
party conductor. 

But it was a corking good trip and everybody 
was happy in being one of the party. 


Looks Like a Dead Yard 

The Amoskeag Children’s Garden plots are 
rapidly being cleaned up and the place looks for all 
the world like a cemetery. 

The headstones — or rather the signs with the 
gardener’s names painted upon them — look real white 
and ghastly in the sunlight. 

Gee, I hope they will pull them up pretty soon. 


Shooting Big Words 

Michael Durgin, of the perching room, is getting 
a reputation among his roommates. They have 
named him the Walking Dictionary and are sending 
out S. 0. S. calls for a bunch of Webster’s best works 
to help them understand the line of vocabulary 
Michael is cutting loose. 


Pagt 230 


Jimmie O’Neil’s Accident 

He sat upon the sandy beach — 

His thoughts were out of season, 

The girls, in vain, with might and main, 
Tried hard to find the reason. 

He let them coax — he didn’t care 

For the gibes that they hurled at him. 

He was nearly sick, but bound to stick 
As long as his name was Jim. 

But a friend came along with an overcoat, 
Was welcomed with many screeches, 

For the boy O’Neil, could now away steal 
Without showing the rent in his breeches. 


Worrying About a Skunk 

Jim Plain set a trap for a skunk and now he is 
worrying about how in the world he will kill the animal 
if it gets trapped. 

I think a good way would be for Jim to go out 
and practice some of his imitations on his skunkship. 
That’s enough to kill a wooden Indian. 


Will Neither Borrow Nor Lend 

Frank Kelley, the piscatorial expert of the 
southern division has come into possession of the 
finest set of ice fishing apparatus in this section — so 
he claims — and is eagerly awaiting the advent of a 
good, hard freeze. He says he don’t intend to borrow 
or lend fishing apparatus this winter. 


Page 231 


Quit the Game 

John Mitchell was one of a party who attended 
the wonderful game between the Boston Red Sox 
and Detroit Tigers, when nearly 40,000 people 
witnessed the twelve-inning struggle. 

He reached the park when thousands were 
storming the gates for admission and with a true 
sportsmanlike demeanor he accosted a ticket specu- 
lator with the following speech: 

“Here you! We want some tickets and we don’t 
care how much they cost. We came all the way down 
from New Hampshire to see this game and we want 
to get in.” 

Now there were plenty of fifty cent tickets being 
sold for standing room in the field, but John and his 
friends coughed up $1.50 each for some 75-cent seats 
in the grand stand, when none were left. 

They were shoved into the field and after trying 
to break through the crowd in several places to get a 
glimpse of Ty Cobb they became disgusted and said 
it would be a rotten game anyway so they beat it 
out through the right field gate. 

They were a sore bunch when they learned what 
a corking good game it was and the other members of 
the party declare that the next time they go to Boston 
with John, they will leave him at home. 

Think What You Like 

Daniel Ready, of the southern division, has, or 
claims to have, tomatoes ripe enough to pick, and 
expects to have corn right out of the garden for his 
Sunday dinner. Dan is either a very good gardener 
or a most proficient prevaricator. 


Page 232 


Motor Boats Hard Hit 


The big wind storm which swept over this section 
of the country about a week ago certainly had some 
of the Amoskeag men worried. These are the men 
who own motor boats on the lake. 

On Monday there was a general stampede of 
these fresh water sailors to Massabesic to see how 
their property was faring. 

Walter Walsh, who owns the pretty craft Violet, 
found his pet being dashed up on the shore not far 
from the site of the old Mountain Grove house, she 
having been blown from the front pond where she was 
anchored. 

George Leduc’s trim little steel motor boat was 
found nicely settled on the bottom of the lake. George 
will have some difficulty in getting her going again. 

Old-timers who make a practice of visiting the 
lake frequently, declare they never saw the water so 
rough and nearly every boat on the lake received a 
severe lashing. 


Dan Smith Kidnaped 

Robert Louis Stevenson, the eminent Scottish 
novelist wrote a tale to which he gave the title “Kid- 
naped,” and as I am about to relate a story dealing 
with a kidnaping episode, I hope I will not be accused 
of plagiarism, because the hero of the tale is the only 
Scotch thing about it. 

The hero is none other than Dan Smith, monarch 
of the boiler houses. 

To be kidnaped sounds kind o J blood curdling 
and suggests brigands, bandits and black-handers, 

Page 233 


and brings to mind the sad, mysterious fate of poor 
little Charlie Ross. 

But Dan’s case was not so sad and far from being 
as mysterious as Charlie’s. Folks are generally 
kidnaped on account of their beauty or for the purpose 
of extorting money, but both of these reasons were 
absent in Dan Smith’s case. 

In the first place, I can truthfully say without 
being unanimously awarded the presidency of the 
Knockers’ Club, that Dan would never, never be 
kidnaped for the first reason. 

On a recent Sunday Dan was coming down 
Pleasant street just as the Leggetts were motoring 
up the street to get Bert and Jim Richardson and 
start for Ragged Mountain. 

“Hello, Dan!” said Bob Leggett, “What do you 
say to taking a little ride?” 

Dan answered that a little ride — a very little 
ride — would be just to his taste and presently he was 
speeding up the state road. The day was fine, the 
company congenial and Dan didn’t notice anything 
wrong until he found himself bowling through Con- 
cord. 

“Hey!” he yelled, “where are youse felluhs takin’ 
me?” 

“Oh, just up to Ragged Mountain!” answered 
the Leggetts and the Richardsons in chorus. 

Dan advanced two hundred and fourteen reasons 
why he couldn’t make the trip but his captors were 
obdurate. Pleas and arguments were of no avail. 

One concession they made. They allowed him 
to get out and telephone home. He got quite a sharp 
lecture about dinner being cooked and no one to eat 
it and the explanation that he sent over the wire was 


Page 234 


that he had been kidnaped and was not responsible 
for his predicament. 

Then he was hustled into the auto again and 
despite his pleas that he be set down on the road the 
kidnapers were unrelenting. 

“Why, Dan ” exclaimed Bob, “if we did let you 
out here on the road, how would you get home?” 

“I’d leg it,” answered Dan. 

Then, as a last desperate resort, he started 
singing Scotch songs, figuring that this would make 
them glad to release him, but although they gave 
signs of intense suffering they set their jaws grimly 
and held their prisoner even though he was using a 
burr that made the chestnut trees along the road 
droop their branches in shame, and caused the squir- 
rels to flock in their direction for miles around, in 
anticipation of a harvest. 

But on they went to Ragged Mountain and there 
Dan spent the day, even though half a dozen com- 
mittee meetings were waiting for him in the city. 

He is learning some rag-time songs to sing when 
he is again kidnaped and brought to Ragged Mountain 
and — don’t whisper it to Mrs. Smith — he’ll be laying 
for a chance to be kidnaped every Sunday now. 


Perley Spilled the Beans 

If Perley Smith shows his head inside the southern 
division machine shop, during the next four weeks, 
it will be a case of soft music and flowers for the 
aforesaid Perley. It won’t be a case of “Don’t he 
look natural,” but rather considerable of “Hasn’t 
the poor fellow changed.” 

The terrible feeling of bloodlust raging in the 


Page 235 


breasts of the machinists is due to the fact that 
Perley double-crossed them when it came time to 
present the gold watch to Orin Fellows, last Thursday 
night. Mr. Fellows was about to retire from his long 
connection with the company and the men in the 
shop could not let the occasion go by unnoticed. 
They 'accordingly got together and procured a fine 
gold watch and very unwisely selected “P. B.” to 
make the presentation. 

The stage was all set and arrangements made to 
do the act when the speed was stopped for the day. 
The machinists, forty strong, went up stairs at the 
appointed time, only to learn that Perley had handed 
over the watch to Orin about 5.30 o’clock, without 
giving the men a chance to share in the pleasure of 
being present when their gift to Mr. Fellows was 
bestowed. 

As a consequence of Perley’s thoughtlessness, 
there is enough heat in the machine shop to warm up 
the southern division cloth room, and every man goes 
around with a piece of lead pipe in his hand ready to 
deal their friend the knock-out. 


Jack Meant Right 

There are some pretty nifty little political 
workers in this beloved municipality, but in my not 
so very humble opinion Captain Jack Cuddy is — if 
not head and shoulders above any of them — at least 
from a sixteenth to an eighth of an inch higher in the 
scale of effectiveness than the next highest claimant 
to the highest honors. 

In a department near where Capt. Cuddy dallies 
with the art preservative, labors a young man who is 


Page 236 


quite prominent in certain activities of the Textile 
Club. This young man has been much interested in 
the battle to keep the High school out of the muddy 
pool of practical politics and is a great admirer of 
Principal Libby. He votes in the same ward that 
John E. does and when he appeared at the polling 
place election day the eagle eyed Captain spied him 
at once and greeted him with a smile that made 
sunshine seem like black smoke as he inquired in a 
voice vibrating with sympathy and solicitude, how 
his health was and what was the condition of the 
health of the rest of the family. 

Then grasping him firmly but tenderly by the 
arm the Captain rushed him over through the ward 
room, saying: 

“There’s a friend o’ mine over here I want you 
to meet.” 

Pausing with his captive in front of Frank Downs, 
he said, “Mr. Downs, here’s a friend o’ mine I want 
you to know!” 

Downs gave a snort of surprise and disgust and 
replied, “I know that fellow only too darned well! 
He was one o’ the principal factors in beating me the 
last two times I ran!” 


Champion Knot-Hole Cooker 

Albert Devoe is a very important figure in the 
central division electrical department’s quota of 
employees. He is a universal favorite among his 
fellow workmen and has a great many qualifications 
(according to his own tell) that fit him for positions 
far above the one he is at present holding. 

His great forte is cooking knotholes. He learned 

Page 237 


the scientific process when he was acting as chef in a 
lumber camp out in Michigan. 

He claims that knotholes, when properly prepared 
for the table, are a real luxury, and make a dish that 
even the epicurean taste of the Michigan woodchopper 
approves of with a relish. 

His recipe is as follows: Take one-half peck of 
knotholes and soak in water over night. After peeling, 
parboil for 37 minutes. Roll in cracker crumbs and 
fry in hot fat. They will be found much better if 
served cold. 

Albert was discharged from his job as cook in the 
lumber camp because he chucked a lot of red pepper 
in the soup, one day, to keep it warm — the soup, not 
the day. 

He is thinking of going back to Michigan for a 
vacation, but he finds it is a mighty hard thing to do, 
to leave his many lady friends. On Thursday and 
Saturday evenings he can be seen holding inpromptu 
receptions anywhere along Elm street, sporting his 
square-topped hat and togged out in the latest style. 
He is right on the job, however, when somebody says 
“Line up.” 


He Made His Will 

Funny things always happen on fishing excursions. 

During the trip to Portsmouth by the Amoskeag 
men, last Tuesday, Norman Provencher became so 
seasick when out on the water that he thought he was 
going to die. 

He made his will, then and there and signed it 
as best as he could in his pitiable condition. 

Dick Mclntire didn’t know he had a fish on his 


Page 238 


hook and wouldn’t believe it until someone else pulled 
in the line and showed a nice seven-pound cod. 

George Pierce never caught anything in his life 
before but dogfish, but on account of the lateness of 
the season he was allowed to take in three cod. He 
was some tickled. 


He Cannot Sleep 

Tom Shannon, of the worsted dye house, is 
working on the night shift in that department and 
finds it exceedingly difficult to sleep days. 

In fact he claims he does not average an hour’s 
slumber in twenty-four; but he wishes to deny as 
emphatically as it is possible to make a denial, the 
story which is going the rounds to the effect that he 
is looking for a job on the police force to fill in his idle 
time during the day. 

He says he might be able to drive a job team 
or clerk in a store during the day and still hang onto 
his night job, but a police assignment he thinks would 
be apt to make him too sleepy, thus going to the other 
extreme, and he thinks his present condition much 
more endurable. 


Good Luck to Them 

Thomas Gorman and John Creedon, of the 
southern division, were in Boston last Saturday and 
took in the ball game. They are said to have been 
very successful in guessing the “do’s and don’ts,” 
and more than made their expenses. 


Page 239 


And So Did I 


Did you take in a World’s Series game? 

So did I! 

Did you get squashed in the mob? 

So did I! 

Did you break your glasses? 

So did I! 

Didn’t you think it was a corking good game? 

So did I! 

Didn’t you think that Duffy Lewis was some kid 
with the stick? 

So did I! 

Did you have a ticket before you reached Boston? 
So did I! 

Did you see a few thousand people who didn’t 
have tickets and wanted them? 

So did I! 

Did you root until your voice cracked? 

So did I! 

Did you come home sober? 

So did I! 


An Expensive Cheap Trip 

The story has just come to light regarding the 
trials and tribulations of two of the Amoskeag Com- 
pany’s nurses while on a pleasure trip recently. 

Mrs. Mary Varney and Miss Mabel Potter 
decided to take advantage of the after-season reduction 
in rates to the Isles of Shoals and forthwith made the 
trip. 

There was some mixup in regard to their under- 
standing of the time the boat left for the return to 


Page 240 


Portsmouth, with the result that they were left with 
no means of getting back. 

They faced the proposition of remaining until 
the next day or chartering a motor boat. They did 
the latter thing because it would cost less than hotel 
expenses. 

Now they are sorry. The sea was mighty rough, 
and dresses and hats were ruined by the dashing spray. 

The two nurses are of the opinion that cheap 
trips are sometimes mighty expensive. 


Went Next Day 

George Stokes made two starts in order to 
reach the Rockingham Fair. The first one was 
false. He boarded the Portsmouth train by mistake 
and rode to East Manchester, returning to the city 
proper on the electrics. 

He tried again the next day and was successful 
this time in reaching Salem and enjoyed his stay at 
the fair. 

George claims that the B. & M. does not properly 
protect its patrons from mistakes in the matter of 
calling the trains. 


Moustache a Disadvantage 

Everett Gleason is suffering from a hair lip. 
At least he looks as if he suffered considerable. 

Some of us are wondering if he will be able to 
smoke his cigar butts down as short as he usually 
did before he started the moustache. 


Page 241 


Honored the Veterans 


As the local Grand Army veterans started out for 
their annual field day one day last week, they marched 
to City Hall and countermarched down Elm street. 
As they passed the Manchester bank a group of young 
men who stood watching them took off their hats as 
the company marched past. 

It was a fine token of respect to this body of men 
which is growing pitifully smaller with each succeeding 
year. It was only the courtesy due the veterans, but 
this crowd of fellows had the courage to show publicly 
the respect they felt inwardly, and it was a fine sight. 


Greager’s Burglar 

Albert Greager woke up the other night and 
thought he heard burglars trying to gain entrance to 
his home on Pleasant street. 

He snuck out the back way in search of help and 
fortunately (?) found the two husky Kenyon lads on 
the piazza above. 

The trio searched diligently, but could find no 
trace of the robbers and finally gave up the hunt. 

If Albert had questioned the Kenyon boys a 
little, perhaps they could have put him wise to a 
prank, but they let him rave. 


Here's A Kick 

Dear Bill: — In the name of healthiness, cleanli- 
ness and decency, we wish to protest against the 
conditions of the western entrance of the southern 
division mills on Granite street. At morning and at 


Page 242 


noon a great many of our employees gather there and 
cover the sidewalk with their expectorations. 

This is bad enough, but in addition they block 
the passage and a person has to fight his way through. 
It seems that some rules or regulations could be made 
to correct this, if the men have not the common 
decency to correct it themselves. 

Yours for Safety First, in behalf of our West 
Side ladies. 

ONE WHO PASSES. 


Some Trouble, but He Made It 

A week ago Sunday, Lionel Wilson returned home 
from church services to find that his door was locked 
and his key lost. He occupies the front room up 
stairs in a Hanover street house. There was only one 
thing to do, so procuring a ladder he climbed to the 
window. 

The sight of Lionel, in his glad clothes climbing 
the rickety old ladder on the Lord’s day, in aristocratic 
old Hanover street, with a music roll under his arm, 
was an unique spectacle, to say the least. 

Lionel says he will see that it does not happen 
again, even if he is obliged to wear the key on a string 
suspended from his neck, a la bathing style. 


He Saved the Lady 

Wallace Place, one of Perry Dow’s carpenters, 
is coming in for a good deal of joshing on account of a 
story which has been going the rounds lately, regarding 

Page 243 


his heroic rescue of a lady from the tank of water at 
the Rockingham Fair. 

They had a bunch of diving girls as an attraction 
and one of them amused herself by slipping into the 
tank, dressed apparently, in her street clothes. 

She was looking for some fearless chap like 
Wallace to happen around and he fell for the bunk. 

After he had rescued (?) the fair damsel, getting 
good and wet during the operation, she gave him the 
laugh, slipped off her loose dress and — the diving act 
immediately followed. 

But Wallace got his from the crowd. 


Bow Legs No Hindrance 

Thomas Conway has been elected a call man in 
the city fire department. Some of his friends were 
wondering if his bow legs would reduce his speed, 
but since seeing him in action they agree that the 
bow legs are no hindrance. 


Change Will Do Him Good 

I am given to understand that Leon R. Foster 
of the purchasing department, has resigned his 
position at the Granite Square theatre pop-corn stand. 
Zack’s friends say that he is now following the stock 
market. 


SELAH ! 












































































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